'IPSP^, 




^ 


M 


i 


M 


i 


M 



THROUGH Field and Wood. 



LYRIC VERSES AND SONNETS. 



BY ^ 

LEWIS DAYTON BURDICK. 




^2- 



PHILADELPHIA: 

J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY. 

1888. 



^".^V: 



Copyright, 1888, by Leavis Dayton Burbick. 



||STEPFOTVri'RSft,\pPRlNTERS||| 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 



The Coming of "Winter 9 

A Day 15 

The Woods in Early Spring 17 

Afterwards 19 

Distance 20 

Two Lives 23 

How Little do we know ! 24 

Lost 25 

Across the Fields ^ 26 

Then Earth were more like Heaven 27 

Friendship 29 

The Best Legacy 30 

Clyde 32 

A Quiet Stream 33 

Labor .... 34 

The Death of the Czar 35 

Love and Art 36 

Maturity 37 

Black Eyes and Blue Eyes 38 

Brotherhood 39 

In the Fields 40 

After the Storm 43 



4 CONTENTS. 



PAGE 



In October Days ^^ 

Farewell to Summer *^ 

Priests ^"^ 

Corn 48 

Oases 4^ 

Beyond ^^ 

June 50 

In Extremis ^'^ 

Light and Love ^^ 

Servitude ^^ 

Vanity ^^ 

At Last 54 

Thought 55 

A Breeze of June 56 

Unpleasant Things 59 

Transmutation • ^^ 

For Her Alone ^^ 

The Nation's Dead 64 

Old and New <55 

Fate ^"^ 

Mirrors "' 

Why linger So ? ^^ 

Leaf and Drop "^^ 

Better To-day than Yesterday . 71 

Conceit ... < 

The Clock "^^ 

Our Best "^ 

Frost "4 

Palmistry "^5 

Drifting '^^ 



CONTENTS. 5 

PAGE 

Love's Plaint and Prayer 76 

Summer Kain 79 

When I am Dead 82 

Resignation 83 

One Afternoon 85 

Nature's Jewels , , 87 

An Idyl of the Spring 87 

Husks 89 

Forever 90 

Snovv-Plakes 91 

Apart 93 

Song of the Wind . 98 

November 96 

A Memory 98 

The Winter Woods 99 

The Unattained 102 

Self-Measurement 103 

Our Idol 108 

Under the Oak 104 

A Winter Song 105 

Why do we live? Why do we die ? 106 

Water-Cresses 107 

Revelation 108 

Love marks the Season 109 

Our King 110 

How Kind is Death ! Ill 

King Sham 112 

Warning 117 

My Neighbor 118 

The Spirit of the Bell 119 



6 CONTENTS. 

SONGS OF LOVE. 

PAGE 

All in All .... 122 

Love's Messengei' 123 

The Difference 124 

A Valentine 125 

Thistle-down 125 

Columbine 126 

Eglantine 127 

White and Blue 130 

Through the Year 131 

SONGS OF FLOWERS. 

Gold-thread 132 

The Wooing of the Kose 133 

My Hollyhocks 136 

The Daisy . 137 

Anemone 138 

Lappa 139 

Heart's-ease 142 

Sweet-Clover - 142 

DEVOTIONAL. 

As God wills 143 

Invocation 145 

Oh, praise His Holy Name ! 146 

Easter Lilies 148 

An Easter Greeting 160 

Receive Me 152 



CONTENTS. 7 

SONNETS. 

PAGE 

Chance 153 

Test 154 

Submission 155 

Trust 156 

Unsatisfied 157 

Indecision 158 

Conscientiousness 159 

Manhood 160 

More Light 161 

A Summer Day. 162 

A March Day 163 

At the Bridge 164 

The Wind 165 

Promise 166 

Spitzkop 167 

Our Unwelcome Friend 168 

Luna ad Tellurem 169 

Betrayal 170 

The Unexpected 171 

At the Lake 172 

Not Yet ;. • • • 173 

Mars Hill 174 

BALLADS, RONDEAUS, AND TRIOLETS. 

Blind 175 

They wait the Mail 176 

When shines the Moon 177 

A Ballad of my Mare 178 



g CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Old Mill ^"^^ 

The Ballad of Poverty ^^^ 

„, . ,. 182 

Christine 

To-Day ^^^ 



THE COMING OF WINTER. 

Geim sentinels, majestic, silent stand the naked 
beeches ; 
The balsams stagger with their burdens of new- 
fallen snow ; 
The sombre clouds above reach down to sombre 
woods below, 
Along the line of distant hills far as the vision 
reaches. 

The south wind whispers through the lonesome 
tamarack its warnings ; 
On lilac bough the nest hangs tenantless, and 

capped with snow. 
Which bluebirds built among the scented blos- 
soms long ago, 
When they beneath my window sang and wooed on 
May-day mornings. 



10 THE COMING OF WINTER. 

Beneath the shed's low eaves the homes are crumb- 
ling of the swallows ; 
The barn-yard's sunny side the ruminating kine 

seek out, 
And all day long the lazy creatures hardly turn 
about ; 
The trodden snow-path daintily the vane-cock 
closely follows : 

The fences on the broad white fields are pencil lines 
one fancies ; 
Upon the pansy-beds are spread soft coverlets of 

snow ; 
The ice creeps in the coves where sluggishly the 
waters flow, 
And stealthily into the middle of the stream ad- 
vances. 

The steel-shod sled again the boys bring from the 
kitchen garret; 
Once more are oiled and strapped and polished 

up the rusting skates; 
With muffled ears they brave the night to seek 
the joy that waits, 
And were the cold ten times as great, unflinching 
they would bear it. 



THE COMING OF WINTER. H 

Acquaintances meet on the street, and pass with 
hurried paces ; 
And there they meet, from tireless homes and 

palaces of gold ; 
The warmth of wool and wealth of seal shield 
one from pinching cold, — 
Her sisters follow with want written on their pallid 
faces. 

Now silence reigns in haunts once musical with 
many voices ; 
The sun at noon but half way to the zenith 

climbs; ah, me. 
What restfulness there is in 'Nature's inactivity ! 
The weary brain and weary limb her sympathy 
rejoices. 

And still, the coming of the winter always brings a 
sadness 
Akin to that of parting with a friend we long 

have known ; 
Or that of leaving some familiar place dear to us 
grown, 
For which a longing afterwards sometimes comes in 
our gladness, 



12 THE COMING OF WINTER. 

Springtime's attractive grace, the richness of the 
riper season, 
And all the tragic glory of the autumn days yet 

cling 
To memory, and yet for them our hearts are 
hungering ; 
But how considerate and kind is Nature, and what 
reason, 

If we but think of it, once more she gives us to be 
grateful ; 
For she embalms her dead with older than 

Egyptian rite, 
As tenderly and lovingly she covers from the 
sight 
Of men, with her broad mantle of soft ermine, all 
things hateful. 

And with that trusting faith true children of 
Osiris waited 
For their lost friends, in other forms, to come to 

them again. 
We know the sweet influences of summer's 
warmth and rain 
Will bring again the leaves and flowers reformed 
and sublimated. 



THE COMING OF WINTER. 13 

Both in her toil and rest, what lessons Nature to us 
teaches ! 
Oh, stony, grinding greed ! oh, blind, insatiate 

avarice ! 
Behold, how free the fragrance borne on every 
zephyr is ! 
Or how the tree casts off the crown of splendor that 
it reaches. 

And in its garb of faded sackcloth winter's storming 
faces, 
As if submitting meekly to be scourged, in peni- 
tence, 
For too unseemly pride, arrayed in its magnifi- 
cence ; 
And yet, withal, the coming of the winter brings its 
graces. 

Although into some homes want creeps with the 
inclement weather, 
From hearths and hearts grown cold some fire 

Love from the embers rakes, 
Which warmth and blessing has for him who 
gives and him who takes. 
And once more human needs bring human hearts 
more close together. 
2* 



14 THE COMING OF WINTER. 

As simplest plant that blooms and dies, its life one 
summer ending, 
And that whose gorgeous crown comes only with 

a century. 
Fulfil God's purposes, we know, though how we 
may not see. 
That for our good the winter's frown and summer's 
smile are blending. 



I hear the crazy wind, and tremble at its visitation. 
Yet germs of pestilence it sweeps away from me, 

maybe ; 
The pollen of the clover revels in, for greed, the 
bee, 
But life and death of crimson fields hang on his 
ministration. 

Oh, white-winged hosts down from the frosted 
storm-clouds wildly flying. 
Are ye the guardian ghosts of rays of all the 

daisies past. 
Come hovering o'er to shield the sod from the 
northwester's blast? 
Beneath the crystal mountains summer's bloom is 
fallow lying. 



A DAY. 15 

It is not death the winter bruigs ; beyond I see the 
meadows 
Greening; afar I catch the odor of the violet; 
There is no death; our loved and lost are only 
sleeping yet, 
And we shall grasp them by the hand beyond the 
darksome shadows. 



A DAY. 



The day is breaking in the east : 

What will it bring? 
More depth of woe, some added bitterness, 

One friendship ceased, 
A few sad anxious hours whose lingering 
Subdues the strength and makes the faith grow less,- 

What will it bring? * 

The day is breaking in the east : 

What will it bring? 
Some sweeter harmony of reed or lyre 

For soul to feast 
Upon? To satisfy heart's hungering, 
Some dear fulfilment of its fond desire, — 

What will it bring? 



IQ A DAT. 

The day is breaking in the east: 

What will it bring? 
Joy to some captive from his galling chain 

At length released, 
The throning in some heart of love as king, 
Awaking to his rapture and his pain, — 

What will it bring? 



The day is dying in the west: 

What has it brought? 
More wealth of hope, a touch of tenderness, 

One wrong confessed, 
Some aspiration lifting higher, one thought 
Some fragment of humanity will bless, — 

What has it brought? 



The day is dying in the west: 

What has it brought? 
Some friend estranged to sup and taste our wine, 

A welcome guest? 
Some strife with sore humiliation fraught, 
Or crowned with victory and love divine, — 

What has it brought? 



THE WOODS TN EARLY SPRING. 17 

The day is dying in the west : 

What has it brought? 
One day less distant from the waiting bliss; 

To endless rest 
One day more near; to hand and brain overwrought, 
What comforting is summed in this 

The day has brought? 



THE WOODS IN EARLY SPRING. 

I NEVER walk these woodland ways, 

And on the cast-off jewels tread, 
Which crowned throughout the summer days, 

The naked boughs above my head, 
Unless my pulses thrill and start 

At every footstep's slightest sound. 
And I do feel within my heart, 

That it is consecrated ground. 

Decay and ruin greet my eyes ; 

Grim skeletons in silence stand ; 
Where all was life around me lies 

The work of death on every hand ; 



18 THE WOODS IN EARLY SPRING. 

And every leaf beneath my feet, 

Which careless winds have thoughtless strown, 
Marks where friend I was wont to greet, 

Or hides grave of friend I have known. 

And yet I cannot think them dead, 

Though I behold Death's signals here; 
Though from my vision they are fled, 

I know they must be somewhere near, 
And have assumed these sombre hues, 

For purpose I cannot divine; 
Or feint of death may be a ruse, 

Perchance, to test the faith of mine. 

To every blackened arch and spire 

Clings something yet of former grace; 
As mute strings of a broken lyre 

Recall outlines of some dear face. 
Among these withered stems I see 

Familiar forms where'er I turn ; 
I breathe again, it seems to me, 

The spicy odor of the fern. 

And even now, the while I look, 

Warm sunlight streaming through the boughs. 



AFTERWARDS. 19 

And into every hidden nook, 

With grace of life the germs endows, 

Which only fragments of the dust 
Appeared to my half-blinded eyes; 

And my heart swells with hope and trust. 
For I can see the dead arise. 



AFTERWARDS. 

No sky is so draped with thick clouds sweeping 
over, 

Obscuring and mocking the light of the sun, 
But it will again its brightness recover. 

When the wrath of the storm is done. 

No violet snatches from the blue bending over. 
So exquisite hue in the blossoming May, 

But the litter of autumn the mould will cover, 
Where it withers and passes away. 

No heart is so gay with frolic and laughter 
In its hours of abandon, most reckless and wild. 

But the pang of some grief will come to it after, 
To which it is unreconciled. 



20 DISTANCE. 

No heart is so strickeu and broken with sorrow, 
Overwhelming and crushing like death, to-day, 

But there 'waits it some hopeful and brighter to- 
morrow. 
When its woe shall have shrunken away. 

The gray of no dawn is so winsome and tender. 
Heralding the fulness of beauty and light. 

But the day rolls away, and its dying splendor 
Is chased by the shadows of night. 

The gloom of no night is so long, and so cheerless. 
Though its measureless spaces seem infinite. 

But the dawn of some morning will follow, as 
peerless. 
As the suns before it have lit. 



DISTANCE. 



We always look too far away ; 

For aye. 
More distant things attractive seem ; 

We dream 



DISTANCE. 21 

Of that beyond our reach and ken, 

And then, 
To gain it sacrifice that near 

And dear. 

We may think that the world is fair 

Elsewhere, 
And see not beauties that near by 

Us lie; 
Or sweetest harmonies may make 

Awake 
Some by-gone sorrow's mournful strain 

Again. 

The treasures our weak hands might clasp 

We grasp 
Not, or but half appreciate, 

And wait, 
Unsatisfied and hungering, 

Something, 
Which better through the veil of years 

Appears. 

Too far we seek our duty, too; 

So do 

Our efforts fail; close to our homes 

It comes, 

3 



22 DISTANCE. 

And needful opportunity, 

Maybe, 
Awaits for us our very door 

Before. 

We magnify that in our way 

To-day ; 
Fumes of suspicion's poison rise ! 

Our eyes 
Are blurred by them ; to-morrow, though, 

Our foe 
Disarms; and through its tinted dream 

Joys gleam. 

Our wisdom classifies each star. 

Afar, 
But gauges not some nearer light 

Aright ; 
Who sees how far an evil word 

Is heard. 
Or counts steps love's dear feet have trod- 

But God ! 



TWO LIVES. 23 



TWO LIVES. 



The life of one men thought was almost blame- 
less : 

Ah ! who can tell 
What forces strove in him for mastery 
Ere honor yielded up her citadel ? 
Among his fellows this one walked a king, 
In wisdom, affluence, and everything 
For which is longing, struggling, envying: 
His magic touch wrought all successfully ; 
The voices of the world sang his renown ; 
Upon his brow love placed his regal crown : 

Ah ! who can tell 

Why he went down ? 

The life of one was grovelling and aimless: 

Ah! who can know 
The purposes that sway the human heart? 
He lived and served and plodded ; little, though, 
By him the waters of life's sea were stirred : 
Wealth crowned him not; fame whispered not a 
word; 



24 ^OW LITTLE DO WE KNOW. 

Beyond a space his name was never heard ; 
Though steadfastly he played an humble part, 
He could not climb, and reached to honors none; 
And, at the end, seemed just where he begun : 

Ah ! who can know 

What heights he won? 



HOW LITTLE DO WE KNOW! 

They tell us there are mountains in far Switzer- 
land 
Which send a dozen echoes back to those below ; 
Beyond the spaces by our narrow vision spanned 
Are echoes God alone can understand : 

And what he hears, alas, how little do we 
know ! 

The sigh we breathe, the word we speak, the note 
we sing, 
How little do we know how far some one will 
hear ! 
The kindly deed we do, the look of love we bring, 
The soothing touch of our sweet comforting, 
How little do we know how some heart it will 
cheer ! 



LOST. 25 

The blow we strike, the wound we give, the heart 
we break, 
How little do we know our victim's suffering ! 
The loss we feel, the cross we bear, the blow we 

take. 
The sacrifice for some dear one we make, 

How little do we know the strength that it will 
bring ! 



LOST. 

I LOST a little seed, one day, 

And where I could not tell ; 
The careless wind took it away. 
And left it in God's care; 
Upon it then His sunshine fell. 
And it was watered by His dew, 
Till by and by a lily grew. 
And blossomed there. 

A careless little word, one day. 
Out from my lips there fell. 
And with my breath was blown away. 
What mortal it will greet. 
Or whither go, I cannot tell : 
3* 



26 ACROSS THE FIELDS. 

I hope it will not mischief do, 
But will a lily grow into, 
With fragrance sweet. 

I missed a little friend, one day, 
And tears like rain-drops fell, 
And sorrow filled my heart alway. 
For he was much to me. 
And it is hard to say farewell; 
But I would not have him again : 
One of the King's own lilies, then. 
Were lost, maybe. 



ACROSS THE FIELDS. 

Across the fields, across the fields. 

This bright October morn I pass ; 
The spiders' webs, like silver shields. 

Are hung upon the dripping grass ; 
Like mummies stand the mulleins sere. 

The sumach fires are flaming up. 
And like a star of gold gleams here 

And there a late, lone buttercup. 



THEN EARTH WERE MORE LIKE HEAVEN. 27 

Across the fields, across the fields, 

I catch kaleidoscopic views ; 
His wand again King Midas wields. 

And elm-tops turn to golden hues; 
The glory of the autumn wood 

The sunset has a rival in; 
The emeralds are dipped in blood. 

And revelries of death begin. 

Across the fields, across the fields, 

The breath of distant snowflakes comes; 
To it the grape his sweetness yields; 

A wailing song the wild bee hums; 
And boys and girls, with cheeks of tan, 

The frosted leaves go tripping through, 
The groves upon the hills to scan 

For treasures each year brings anew. 



THEN EARTH WERE MORE 
LIKE HEAVEN. 

If more of men, in every land. 
Their brother men were truer to; 

If fewer men w^ould raise the hand 
To do what they ought not to do; 



28 THEN EARTH WERE MORE LIKE HEAVEN. 

Were more cou trolled by power of love ; 

Did fewer need restraint of fear, 
More of the bliss of heaven above 

Life had within this lower sphere. 

If rights of men were more the song, 

And self more hidden from the sight ; 
If men dared more oppose the wrong, 

And all cared more to live the right; 
If deeds of love, not deeds of land. 

Seemed to mankind to be more dear, 
Life were below more noble, grand. 

And earth to heaven would be more near. 

If needs of men had greater claim, 

And sympathy more moved men's hearts; 
Were lofty stations less the aim, 

And more would act well humbler parts; 
If each more cheerfully would bear 

His burden up the hill of life, 
More happiness on earth were there. 

And less of bitterness and strife. 

Were colors true more kept in sight, 
And less concealed by cunning arts; 



FRIENDSHIP. 29 

If secret thoughts, exposed to light, 
Showed less deceit in human hearts; 

If less was feared the speech of men, 

And conscience taught more law and love. 

Men, in this nether world, were then 
More worthy of the realms above. 

And if a tempted brother fall. 

More would give hand of friendship still, 
With willing mind forgetting all. 

And fewer push him down the hill; 
If, through yet greater charity. 

The erring were by men forgiven, 
Then more reclaimed from sin would be, 

And earth were more like unto heaven. 



FRIENDSHIP. 

When from the path we go 

Is no retreat, 
And cross and care and woe 

Overcome complete : 



30 



THE BEST LEGACY. 

To ease each little blow 

Drops on our feet, 
Your loving aid we know, 

O Friendship sweet! 

When not a shining ray 

Of hope is near, 
And darker grows the way 

We grope in fear, 
Your kindly strength will stay. 

Your light will cheer 
The gloom of sorrow's sway, 

O Friendship dear! 



THE BEST LEGACY. 

An aged sire,— the story runs,— 

Believing dissolution near. 
Called round his bed his weeping sons. 

That they his dying words might hear. 

"Your father's lands," said he, "sell not; 

Concealed in them great treasure lies ; 
I know not where, but search each spot, 

Till coming time reveals the prize. 



THE BEST LEGACY. 31 

"Turn o'er the sod, and plough each field, 
And roll away each useless stone; 

The source of wealth that lies concealed, 
Will surely be to you made known. '^ 

The dying father passed from earth ; 

No hidden gold e'er did appear ; 
But his words proved of untold worth, — 

Eich harvests reaped the sons each year. 

Rewards of industry are great; 

And self-earned bread has relish sweet 
As daintier fare on costlier plate. 

Which pampered heirs of riches eat. 

Who labors with an earnest hand 

In any chosen worthy field, 
Lives for a purpose true and grand. 

Though fate does not him fortune yield. 

Who gives his children gold or lands. 
Uncertain treasures to them leaves; 

Who teaches them with willing hands 
To toil, best legacy bequeaths. 



32 



CLYDE. 



CLYDE. 



O'eewhelmed in grief was Maggie Brown, 
Sweet Maggie Brown— a bride— 

A widow— just one year between— 
And darling baby Clyde. 

Submitting meekly to her fate, 

She hid away the tears; 
God gave her strength to struggle through 

Stern winter's hopes and fears. 

Set free by genial breath of spring 

The streamlets sped along; 
The merry robins came again 

And filled the air with song. 

Again sprang up the violets, 

Earth bloomed again anew. 
And every day the little Clyde 

To Maggie dearer grew, — 

Too lovely grew to leave amidst 

Earth's bitterness and strife; 
God took him from his mother's arms 

Into a better life. 



A qUIET STREAM. 33 



A QUIET STREAM. 

It lies not underneath a southern sky, 
Where gorgeous tropic splendor fills the eye, 
And spicy winds must always whisper by. 

It is no stream of some historic land, 
Enriched with its rare old cathedrals grand, 
Or painted by some mighty master's hand. 

Our song is of a peaceful, happy vale. 

Where stalwart arms and generous hearts prevail ; 

The simple beauties here we proudly hail. 

We hail the freshness of the spring-time rain ! 
We hail the summer wild-flowers come again ! 
We hail the autumn's wealth of golden grain ! 

The clover-heads beneath the drifting snow 
Shall hide ; through leafless trees shall wildly blow 
The rough December winds. What matter, though ! 

4 



34 LABOR. 

The hearth-fire glow shall mock the frost-king 

bold; 
The winter's sport shall hide the winter's cold ; 
The joys exceed the woes a hundred-fold. 

A quiet stream, still on and on it goes, 
Between familiar wood-capped hills it flows, 
And dearer to my heart each year it grows. 



LABOR. 



By artist's skill the canvas glows 

As love and taste design, 
And landscape's hues or tints of rose 

Reflect his touch divine. 

By sculptor's aid our fancy's dream 
Or forms endeared w^e hail, 

And life and love and beauty gleam 
From marble cold and pale. 

But by no magical decree 
The statue fair upsprings, 

And blend in sweetest harmony 
The landscape's colorings. 



THE DEATH OF THE CZAR. 35 

One must serve long and patiently 

Who excellence achieves, 
And fit to wear a crown must be 

Ere he the crown receives. 

The gift of genius, rarest dower, 

What heights may it aspire ! 
Yet labor's arm unlocks its power, 

And lifts achievements higher. 



THE DEATH OF THE CZAR. 

The great has fallen, — life has sped, — 
A nation mourns its regal dead ! 
Judge not, O man ! He stands alone 
Before the great, eternal throne : 

And ye who glory in this hour, 
And think overthrown despotic power, 
Mistaken is your frenzied zeal ; 
Red murder works no public weal. 

Forget ye now his love and cheer 
When bravest men grew pale with fear? 



36 



LOVE AND ART. 

When in that darkest night of all 
Our nation grieved its leader's fall? 

Although our hope and prophecy 
Fulfilled we failed in him to see, 
And we, on his historic page. 
Read not the progress of the age : 

The blow he struck for liberty 
A score of million serfs made free. 
Where in the world's heroic story 
Are written deeds of greater glory ? 

So God be praised! Grudge not a tear, 
Nor yet fling curses o'er his bier; 
We mourn the sadness of his fall, 
And ask God's mercy over all. 



LOVE AND ART. 

Earth's gems, art-touched, resplendent shine 

The antique marble glows, 
Wrought by a skill almost divine, 

And blooms with wreath and rose. 



MATURITY. 37 

Each life is a mosaic grand, 

Mankind are artists all ; 
Yet, sometimes from an unknown hand 

The sweetest gems will fall. 

For golden deeds not set in gold 

Some simple lives adorn, 
And tales of love not ever told 

Put chivalry to scorn. 

As gift of art makes beauty spring 

Up from a block of stone, 
A loving heart makes man a king 

Without a crown or throne. 



MATURITY. 



As yields the peaceful night, 

With sweet and solemn stillness dumb, 
When morning's rosy light 

Announces active day has come: 

4* 



38 BLACK EYES AND BLUE EYES. 

As yields the bud and leaf, 

And perfume sweet and blossom dear, 
When come the fruit and sheaf, 

And wealth of autumn crowns the year: 

So yields youth's gentler joy 

To stronger passion, braver hope. 

When manhood crowns the boy. 

And brain and brawn have fullest scope. 



BLACK EYES AND BLUE EYES. 

A THEILLING power the black possess: 

They tell of brilliancy of mind, 
Of depth of passion, restlessness, 

A soul to daring deeds inclined. 
A tenderness lies in the blue : 

They speak a sympathizing heart, 
Of friendship firm and true, 

And faithfulness, though distance part. 

The black eye penetrates us through, 
And tremblingly it is obeyed ; 

So softly comes the glance of blue. 
Not knowing it, we're captives made. 



BROTHERHOOD. 39 

We love the soul-lit eyes of blue, 

So calm, affectionate, content; 
Admire the glowing, jetty hue. 

So sparkling, bright, magnificent. 



BROTHERHOOD. 

Whoe'er thou art, thou art my brother 

One taught it long ago ; 
And He said, ^^ Love ye one another." 

If greater need one know 
Than I do. Lord, let it be mine 

To whisper to him low, — 
Brother, whatever is mine is thine. 

"Lift ye the burden of another'* 

Is written, too, somewhere ; 
And if in sorrow is my brother, 

Some part is mine to bear; 
Lord, help me, then, it to divine, 

That I may with him share, — 
Brother, whatever is thine is mine. 



40 IN THE FIELDS. 



IN THE FIELDS. 

Away from stately halls, 

From dusty streets away, 
Out from the city's walls, 

I roam at will to-day. 

On me your hottest ray, 

O summer sun, let down ; 
I breathe pure air to-day. 

Though my pale cheeks grow brown. 

I walk through fields of gold. 

And gather jewels bright; 
The wealth cannot be told 

Of treasures greet my sight. 

Upon the side-hill there — 
Whoever knew such luck ? — 

Raspberries ripe and fair 
With eagerness I pluck. 



IN THE FIELDS. 41 

Young wintergreens I pull 

Along my rambling way, 
And fill my pockets full, — 

I am a boy to-day. 

Beside the brook I stroll 

That winds along the vale, 
Whose waters, as they roll, 

Tell me a pleasing tale. 

Among the sweet wild-flowers 
That bloom beside the stream, 

How swiftly pass the hours ! 
How very brief they seem ! 

So, climbing up the hills 

And wandering through the vales. 
My heart with gladness fills; 

But human strength soon fails. 

Now prostrate on the ground 

My weary limbs I fling. 
And pleasant rest is found 

Beside a bubbling spring. 



42 IN THE FIELDS. 

I dream, O God, of Thee, 
The generous gifts of thine : 

What blessings are for me ! 
What priceless riches mine ! 

The gentle winds blow free. 
Shine free the stars above; 

Beneath and over me 

All things proclaim His love. 

I thank him for the flowers 
And for the evening dew, 

And for the sun and showers 
Which make earth bloom anew. 

O Nature, if with thee 

I could commune yet more, 

Content would dwell with me 
And fill me o'er and o'er. 



AFTER THE STORM, 43 



AFTER THE STORM. 

Deep slumber's peace kind Heaven to me brought; 
Yet while I slept a miracle was wrought. 

The curtains of the sky uprolled, and, lo ! 

Paling the starlight's glow, 

A harvest fell — of snow; 

And hands unseen rolled many a long windrow 
In the wild night, white-capping hedge and wall, 
And far as eye can see is spotless all. 

An opal sky rests on the ermined hill ; 
The maple's boughs white coral clusters fill; 

The pine-tree's hanging cones pale taper fingers 
seem ; 

And in the sunlight's beam. 

Like costly jewels, gleam 

The alder's crystals o'er the frozen stream : 
White plumes the elm's high branches wave and 

dip, 
And icy beads the tiny pear-twigs tip. 

All hushed is now the night's wild minstrelsy; 
The stillness only breaks the chickadee. 



44 IN OCTOBER DAYS. 

Whose warm, brave heart no biting cold can 
chill. 

T listen to his trill; 

With joy my senses thrill; 

Into God's presence I come closer still ; 
And in my heart the longing springs and grows 
To be more like the landscape's stainless snows. 



IN OCTOBER DAYS. 

From the maple's mottled cloak, 
From the elm, and from the oak, 
One by one come flying down 
Leaves of crimson, gold and brown ; 
Milk- weed bursts its conic pod; 
Dimmer grows the golden-rod; 
Hazels ripen in the copse; 
Mountain-ashes' berried tops, 
And the budded sumachs blaze 
In October days. 

Down of thistles wildly flies, 
Frosted vine on trellis dies; 



IN OCTOBER DAYS. 45 

Mystic sheets of filmy lace 
Dewy mornings meadows grace; 
Sere sunflowers and hollyhocks 
Slant along the garden walks ; 
Gentians linger blue and fair, 
Ox-eyes glimmer here and there; 
Sunlight mellows through the haze 
In October days. 

Dodging out of sight and reach, 
Squirrels haunt the fruity beech ; 
Weasels steal along the wold 
To the crib or chicken-fold ; 
Sleek and fat the partridge drums; 
Now and then a wild bee hums ; 
Winging round the hemlock high, 
Crows in chorus hoarsely cry ; 
Crickets sing shrill roundelays 
In October days. 

Lustrous apples, red and white. 
Cater to the appetite; 
Pressed from cheese of pomace brown, 
Liquid amber gurgles down, 
5 



46 FAREWELL TO SUMMER. 

Throbbing pulses quicker yet 
With a nectar none forget; 
Pumpkins shine as golden rocks 
Rolled between ripe, lusty shocks 
Of the sickled, glassy maize 
In October days. 

Nights are longer, evenings cold ; 
Chestnut-burs relax their hold ; 
Noisy mills part grain and chaff, 
Burly threshers joke and laugh ; 
Lovers creep within the door, 
Softly breathing nothings o'er; 
So, with hues of dying things, 
Wine of life distils and brings 
Blessings to us many ways 
In October days. 



FAREWELL TO SUMMER. 

Sweetheart, when first I looked on thee so flush 
With thy unfolding tender blades of green. 

So lavish of thy bursting rosebud's blush, 
Thy violets and all thy dainty sheen, 



PRIESTS. 47 

I loved thee, then, sweetheart, ah, me! 
And all my heart went out to thee. 

And when the fulness of thy bloom so soon 
Brought with it drowsy hum of roving bees, 

And bearding wheat, and sultry, melting noon, 
And breezes waving white and crimson seas, 

I loved thee, then, sweetheart, ah, me ! 

And all my being thrilled with thee. 

And in the crowning glory of thy days, 
When harvests manifold attest thy worth, 

And woods in dying splendor briefly blaze 
Ere sombre shadows fall on all the earth, 

I love thee, too, sweetheart, ah, me! 

And grieve to say good-by to thee. 



PEIESTS. 



Amid the gloom of the wild and moonless night, 

As the stars gleam fitfully, 

Long lines of maples I see. 
And their leafless boughs with fleecy flakes are 
white. 



48 CORN. 

Tall priests in their gowns they seem, and the 
winds that blow 
And sway them are litanies 
That are whispered in services 
Over summer's bloom at their feet dead under the 
snow. 



CORN. 



The August winds are holding on the lea — 

With scarce a lull between — 
Their roughest carnival of revelry. 
Broad blades and tasselled spears sway mightily, 

And from afar is seen 

The splendor of their sheen. 
I look on rolling waves, it seems to me. 
But marvel at the strangeness of a sea 

Whose billows' crests are green. 



OASES. 



Large fruitful fields, with beauty rare, 
Of living green, are sometimes where 
For most part barren sarids abound : 



BEYOND. 49 

So in life's endless round and wear 
Of crushing toil and grinding care 

Are pleasant resting-places found. 
Dear are the social joys we share, 
Sweet is the breath of blossoms fair 

Which strew beneath our feet the ground : 
Kind friends help us our burdens bear, 
And deeds of love beyond compare, 

Our darkest hours with light surround. 

Yet in the desert all is barren waste 

Save some few oases of green. 
While life is all with love and beauty graced. 

Save where some barren spots are seen. 



BEYOND. 



The angry wind passes by 

To some realm that farther lies 

And the roar we tremble at, 
Beyond in the distance dies. 

Beyond the shallowest brook 
That laughingly goes its way. 

Rolls the river's flood ; beyond 
It is ocean's foam and spray. 
6* 



50 



JUNE. 

Beyond the bare boughs is bloom ; 

Beyond the blossom's decay 
The sweet mellow fruit matures, 

And gladdens many a day. 

Beyond the cloud and the storm 
Streams of sunlight flood the skies ; 

The day lies beyond the night, 
In the dawn the darkness dies. 

Restless day leaps on, and in 
The flush of the sunset sinks; 

Swift years glide to years beyond, 
And end as never one thinks. 



JUNE. 



So thou art here again, my queen, 
With pufFs and frills and dainty sheen, 
And young as ever thou hast been 

Since I remember first thy coming ; 
Yet every bit as old as I 
Thou wert in days long since gone by. 
When I chased thy pale butterfly. 

And marvelled at thy wild bee's humming. 



JUNE. 51 

But while I have grown stiff and gray 
In years that have slipped fast away, 
With children thou dost romp and play 

As if thou knewest not of grieving, 
And had'st not known a single care; 
And now thou comest, blithe and fair, 
With lilac blossoms in thy hair, 

Along thy pathway perfume leaving. 

The delicatest buds unfold. 

And when they look on thee grow bold ; 

The dandelion gives its gold 

To don a cap of lace and feather ; 
The mustards lose their yellow hair, 
The locusts hang out opals rare, 
Their pink-white gowns azaleas wear. 

Fearing naught of thy gentle weather. 

Fair queen, tell me, in very truth, 

What is the secret of thy youth ? 

Whence comes the power of thine? Forsooth, 

Thy ways are all past my discerning ; 
I think thou art a witch, maybe, 
Who by some weird necromancy 
Has charmed each blade and leaf and tree, 

And they leap out at thy returning. 



52 IN EXTREMIS. 

Or, art thou, too, a slave, as I, 
Who in thy niche of space must lie 
As one by one the months go by ? 

The very flowers thy hand upreareth, 
When thou art helpless to give aid, 
Midsummer's sun shall scorch and fade. 
And death shall blacken wold and glade 

Before thy bloom again appeareth. 



IN EXTREMIS. 

A nation's hero, stricken, dying lies, 

And many eyes 
Throughout the land which owes so much to him, 

With tears are dim. 

Through fire and death he led our brave men on 

To victory won. 
Yet now with resignation waits before 

Death's open door. 

While story's page our mournful past unfolds. 

Or legend holds. 
Forgotten will not be his help to save. 

Or blows he gave. 



LIGHT AND LOVE. 53 

He, whom no higher honors life can give, 

In death will live; 
And while heroic deeds lift men to fame, 

Will glow his name. 

And generations yet unborn w^ill come 

Seeking his tomb. 
And proudly o'er his dust do homage due 

One great and true. 



LIGHT AND LOVE. 

Sin and sorrow shadowing the day, 

Night and error leading us astray. 

Light and love enfolding us alway; 

Hail the sunlight flaming through the darkness 

riven ! 
Hail the love-light overflowing earth and heaven ; 



54 AT LAST. 



SERVITUDE. 



Who lives a life of bondage, yet may have 
Some hours of respite from servility ; 

Who cannot rule himself, he is a slave 
Who cannot once escape his master's eye. 



VANITY. 



A MISER — and often charity 
Half of her sweetness yields to his insatiate greed ; 

An ass whose ears persistently 
Protruding mar the grandeur of many a noble deed. 



AT LAST. 



Backward rolling never, 

Freighted with our toil and tears, 
Shorter growing ever, 

Onward swiftly go the years ; 



THOUGHT. 55 

Hoping, trusting, now we mount, 

Failing, faithless, now we fall; 
Yet some good God's final count, 

In our lives may trace through all. 



THOUGHT. 



Who yet sees those that he loves best. 
However far from him away, 

With their sweet comforting is blest, 
And friends surround him every day. 

While he, who those he thinks his foes, 
Keeps constantly before his eyes, 

However far from them he goes, 
Lives always with his enemies. 



56 A BREEZE OF JUNE. 



A BREEZE OF JUNE. 

A BREEZE of June, 

With whistle and croon, 
Up and down the valley, 

I creep through the grasses. 
To frolic and dally 

With the lithe meadow lasses. 

Over hill and hollow, 
I tickle and tease them. 

And they try to follow 

Me ; it seems to please them. 

Stately and tall. 

High-born and low, 
I jostle them all. 

And they reel to and fro. 

On their slender rods, 

I buttercups sway, 
And the daisy nods, 

If I touch her, alway. 



A BREEZE OF JUNE. 57 

Red-top and clover 

With me waltz and chassez, 
And the lily bends over 

Like a drunken fay. 

Soft and low I speak, 

Or I rave and scold; 
Each turns me her cheek, 

Which is fairer than gold. 

How pretty their gowns ! 

How charming their graces ! 
But they tumble like clowns 

When I breathe on their faces. 

The heads of the barley 

I rock till they quiver 
And roll on the far lea 

Like the waves of the river. 

Unharmed I stride 

Over spears at my feet, 
And with poppies play hide 

And seek in the wheat. 
6 



58 



A BREEZE OF JUNE. 

From blossom and vine 
I drink off the dew, 
Delicious as kisses, 
Bewitching as wine, 
Without measure or stint; 
And never one misses 
The fragrance with which I fill 
Of violet, daffodil. 

Fern and balm and mint 

And mallow and rue, 

Till I cannot tell 

Which the sweeter be. 

Spice of pimpernel 

Or fleur-de-lis. 



Every foolish lass 

Flutters so when I pass, — 

It is easy to see that I move her; 

And each believes me her lover, 

Devoted and true. 

When I am gone, I know 

They will pine for me so; 

Maybe will sigh 

And wither and die; 



UNPLEASANT THINGS. 59 

But what can I do, 
Or what care I, 
As I frolic and croon, 
A breeze of June? 



UNPLEASANT THINGS. 

Oh, life is dear through all its tangled mazes : 
Full many pleasing legends tell 
Of those who in Arcadia dwell ; 

Life's fairer phases 
The poet's glowing numbers swell 

In endless praises : 
But seldom is there one who sings 
The graces of unpleasant things. 

Oh, it is sweet in that dear vale to wander. 
Where yesterday's fair waters flow. 
Where blossoms of remembrance blow, 

And there to ponder 
O'er treasured flowers that brighter glow 

As we grow fonder : 
But is there one who fondly clings 
To memories of unpleasant things? 



QO UNPLEASANT THINGS. 

Oh, bright is that dear land of our fair fancy's 
Ken, with warm skies and cool grottos ! 
Down waveless streams in safe bateaux 

One there advances; 
The splendor of its famed chateaux 

The heart entrances : 
But from that dreamy land who brings 
Back glimpses of unpleasant things? 

Oh, in that realm where always up is springing 
That dear old song forever sung. 
With countless changes sweetly rung. 

And always ringing, — 
Which, ever old and always young, 

Hearts will be singing 
While Love his golden arrows flings. 
Oh, are there there unpleasant things? 

Oh, in our age and since the world's beginning. 
Around sweet song fond hearts entwine. 
And men bow down before its shrine, 

Nor think it sinning 
To call the harmony divine 

Which is so winning : 
But on its harps of many strings 
Who cares to play unpleasant things? 



UNPLEASANT THINGS. Q\ 

Oh, dear and fair and many are the treasures 
To restless, seeking mortals come, 
As over sea and land they roam ; 

Yet sweetest pleasures 
Are in that place we call our home, 

In fullest measures : 
But where our joy the purest springs. 
Why need there be unpleasant things ? 

Oh, all along through years of centuries hoary. 
From pulpit down to pew has rolled. 
From lips of parsons, wise and bold. 

That dear old story. 
So much to us, so sweetly told. 

Of coming glory : 
At last, perhaps, the preacher rings 
The changes on unpleasant things. 

Oh, wealth ! we learn thy value to our sorrow 
In all the things around we see, 
Denied because of poverty. 

In that we borrow 
To-day, and think and hope that we 

May pay to-morrow: 
But is there one who never wrings 
Good money from unpleasant things? 
6* 



Q2 UNPLEASANT THINGS. 

Oh, in the stories of heroic ages, 

How men have worshipped heroes' shrines ! 
The splendor of great kingdoms shines 

In many pages, 
Through fascinating glowing lines 

Of toiling sages : 
But in those records of great kings, 
What pictures of unpleasant things ! 

Oh, when by mortal ken the clouds are riven, 
Beyond which lies the gold we quest — 
That fairest land of dearest rest — 

In that dear heaven. 
To an expected, welcome guest, 

With all forgiven. 
Oh, will there evermore be stings 
Of earthly, sad, unpleasant things? 

Oh, warp and weft of toil make life successful, 
And burning heat its gold refines; 
Of bitter grapes, that yield sweet wines. 

This life it is full ; 
Through pain of death the glory shines 

Of life more blissful : 
Oh, higher up we mount on wings 
Of blessings in unpleasant things. 



FOR HER ALONE. g3 



TKANSMUTATIOK 

I LOOK out on a wintry sky : 

The feathered tree-tops snap and break, 

The leas are all with crystals walled, 

Whose dazzling lustre blinds my eyes ; 

Oh, mystery of mysteries, 

That fills my soul with ecstasy ! 

I look out on the sky again. 

And, where the cold, white snow had lain. 

Some wizard^s hand has touched each flake, 

And wrought of it an emerald. 



FOR HER ALONE. 

Oh, not for him, so cold and pallid there. 
Who lies in peaceful sleep; 

All know that he was pure and brave and fair; 
Oh, not for him I weep. 



g^ THE NATION'S DEAD. 

But her bereft of all she has to give, 

All losses merged in one, 
Who, hopeless, helpless, dead, yet still must live, 

I weep for her alone. 



THE NATION'S DEAD. 

The bird is no longer singing, 
But the song is still in the air ; 

To the thistle no bloom is clinging. 
But the down floats here and there. 

The buds and the blossoms wither, 
But the fragrance is everywhere; 

The dead leaves blow yon and hither. 
But the fruit is ripe and fair. 

The willows above them are bending. 
But the end of their days is not ; 

Their lives and our lives are blending. 
Though the peace of death is their lot, 



OLD AND NEW. 65 



OLD AND NEW. 

Old Year, thou hast our joys to sorrows wed; 
Thou art the tomb of aspirations dead 
And ruined hopes ; thy hour has come at last ! 
We give thee up to the unmeasured past. 

Thy blasting touch has left on beauty's brow 
Traces that ineffaceable are now. 
Fair hair has whitened in thy bleaching breath ; 
Thy footsteps have been harbingers of death ; 
Friends crowned with years have tottered to the 

tomb, 
And those we loved have withered in their bloom. 

Now, as upon the threshold of the New, 
With buoyant hope we bid the Old adieu, 
What memories come thronging through the brain ! 
What spectres from the past rise up again ; 
What ghosts of broken vows and trusts betrayed ! 
How unfulfilled are prophecies we made; 
How much we planned ; how little we achieved ; 
Where we expected most, the most deceived ; 



66 



OLD AND NEW. 



How little good in all we wrought appears! 
But so the story is of countless years; 
Men climb to greatness, glory fades away ; 
They build up cloud-capped towers, but they 

decay ; 
And men, where naught remains of monarchies, 
Once trembled at imperial decrees. 

The wondrous plans of God none understand ; 
It may be, though we strive with faithful hand 
And find ambition's goal beyond us lies, 
Our conscientious toil still fructifies; 
Success sometimes leads to oblivion down. 
While seeming failure wears immortal crown. 

Thy course is run. Old Year. Good-by to thee! 
Hope greets the New: we seek its mystery 
Expectant, glad ; a monument sublime 
Is human faith in every age and clime; 
Though years bring to us neither peace nor power, 
Sweet, trusting faith can brighten every hour; 
So, God be praised ! thou dear old friend, adieu ! 
And hail, all hail the coming of the New ! 



MIRRORS. 67 



FATE. 

Unanswered seemingly your many prayers? 
Denied so many things for which you long? 
So grievous is the burden of some wrong, 
Some sorrow that steals on you unawares? 
Oh, in the anguish of your woe. 
Fate may be kinder than you know. 

Unanswered prayer may save from wretchedness; 
Diviner strength denial may lead to; 
To bear a wrong is less than one to do ; 
Sorrow to One who leaves none comfortless 
May bring you ; so do sufferings 
Lift men sometimes to better things. 



MIRRORS. 



Two fabled beasts, in days of old, 
'Tis said, had each a looking-glass, 

Wherein each saw himself a bold, 

Fierce lion crouched where none could pass. 



68 WHV LINGER SO? 

But it so chanced, upon a time, 

That each looked in the other's glass ; 

And, lo ! each saw, with wrath sublime, 
Himself reflected as an ass. 

As in that age, it is in this, 

Our mirrors flatter us, alas ! 
Who sees himself just as he is. 

Must look into another's glass. 

And he does best who learns to know 
Himself seen through another's eyes ; 

His weaknesses to him they show. 

And strengthen him and make him wise. 



WHY LINGER SO? 

A GOLDEN sheen 

Is on the willows; 
Bright threads of green 

Fringe all the meadows. 
The sparrow twitters. 

Warm breezes blow, 
Oh, tardy blossoms. 

Why linger so? 



WHY LINGER SO? 69 

The noisy rills 

Leap down the gullies; 
Behind the hills 

And in the hollows 
The sunbeam^s kisses 

Lap up the snow; 
Oh, tardy blossoms, 

Why linger so ? 

I hear the song 

Again of bluebird, 
The boughs among 

Of elm and maple ; 
With maiden-blushes 

The young buds glow ; 
Oh, tardy blossoms, 

Why linger so? 

The green frogs peep 

In spongy lowlands ; 
The swallows sweep 

Around the gables; 
Impatiently, for 

The lilacs, though. 
The bees are waiting; 

Why linger so ? 
7 



70 LEAF AND DROP. 



LEAF AND DROP. 

A TINY drop, in dusky starlight, 

With a rose-leaf lover lay, 
But a sun-ray from the far height, 

Warming up the growing day, 
Lured her from a bed of sweetness 

Into morning mist again, — 
So a picture goes with fleetness 

From the frosted window-pane. 

Came this guest for love or duty? 

Let the wooing rose-leaf tell ; 
Tell it by the lustrous beauty. 

Where the crystal kisses fell ; 
Or, if morning perfume-laden. 

Thrills with sweetness, freshness, grace ; 
Surely, then, thy beauty, maiden. 

Tells of drop and leaf's embrace. 



BETTER TO-DAY THAN YESTERDAY. 71 



BETTER TO-DAY THAN YESTER- 
DAY. 

Mourn not, my brother, forever over 

The losses and crosses of yesterday; 
Opportunities gone you cannot recover. 

If you sigh and sorrow for them alway ; 
Wisdom is not, ray brother, in grieving; 

Far wiser it is to endeavor to say. 
When the night comes on, yourself not deceiving, 

I am better to-day than yesterday. 

I will sin to-day and do better to-morrow. 

Is unwise, my brother, though easy to say ; 
For, it is pledging the future to borrow 

What we shall never have strength to pay; 
Though sweet is the voice of pleasure calling. 

It is sweeter yet to be able to say. 
When the day is spent and the shadows are falling, 

I am better to-day than yesterday. 

If one of us stumbles, some day, my brother. 
And falls, oh, pass him not by, — not yet ; 

He lifts himself who raises another. 
And the service God will not forget; 



72 CONCEIT. 

And let it forgotteo, my brother, be never, 
That for each of us it is hard to say, 

Though striving to be vigilant ever, 
I am better to-day than yesterday. 

A king the ideal to-morrow anoints us, 
Disrobes and discrowns us the real to-day ; 

Wherever, my brother, God's finger points us. 
There is something for us to do alway ; 

Though often we fail, if ever essaying, 
At night's oncoming, my brother, we may, 

At last, with joy, be truthfully saying, 
I am better to-day than yesterday. 



CONCEIT. 



Oh, witch. Conceit! Oh, cunning elf! 

Against thee who can lock the door? 
For no man sees thee in himself, 

Yet in another all abhor; 
In presence of thy flaunting shame 

Wisdom and modest worth retreat; 
Oh, thou repulsive, hated name, 

Opinionated hag. Conceit! 



OUR BEST. 73 



THE CLOCK. 



Its lazy pewdulum does mark 

For us youth's lagging hours so slow, 
That we grieve that we do not know 

How we may shorten up its arc. 

In after years, how glad were we, 

Alas! to stay its pendulum; 

So fast the measured strokes do come, 
And crowd on us our destiny. 



QUE BEST. 



Not what we do or do not glean; 
Not in what fields we toil, I ween; 
Not even to what heights we climb 
In these few years that mark off time. 

To act out well one humble part, 
And keep love yet within the heart, 
As days and months and years go by, 
And we grow old and fail and die. 
7* 



74 FROST. 

Each day to feel we do the best 
We can, will give us peace and rest; 
And who attains most happiness 
Does nothing more, does nothing less. 



FROST. 



Where grass-spires grew and nodded 
With every wind that blew, 
Long days of summer through, 
Snow-drifts are on the leas. 

And not a leaf or blossom 
Is on the apple-trees. 

But last night while I dreaming 
Lay, stem and leaf and vine. 
Of every known design. 
Surely came back again; 

Or else their pallid ghosts are 
Haunting my window-pane. 



DRIFTING. 75 



PALMISTRY. 

One looked on the face of a withered crone, 
In the palm of a dimpled hand looked one. 

Black eyes of one of them pierced you through, 
Then the eyes of one, the skies were less blue. 

One's feet trod buttercups yellow as gold, 
The forehead of one was wrinkled and old. 

"Oh, when shall I wed?'' one asked with glee. 
"A sweet, pale face," one answered, "I see." 

"Oh, will my lover be true?" one said. 
"I see," said the crone, "a maiden, — dead." 



DRIFTING. 



Alone and adrift I lie in my boat. 

With my face upturned to the cloudless sky ; 

And on and on I lazily float 

On the crests of the billows, rolling high. 



76 LOVE'S PLAINT AND PRAYER. 

The far-away voice of a crow loudly calls, 

As his outstretched wings cleave the azure air ; 

While over my face the sunlight falls, 

The wind cools my forehead and plays with my 
hair. 

Above, the measureless blue of the skies ; 

Beneath, the blue-green waters are deep; 
I listen and dream, and I close ray eyes. 

And in utter abandon I rest and sleep. 

In the peace of forgetfulness so sweet, 
Unburdened of all life's sorrows I float, 

As the white-capped waves roll under my feet, 
And adrift and alone I lie in my boat. 



LOVE'S PLAINT AND PRAYER. 

Together have the currents of our lives 
Uninterruptedly and calmly flowed 
Along ; 
Quick as a bolt of lightning rives 
The strong 
Oak, can love now be overthrowed? 



LOVE'S PLAINT AND PRAYER. ^^ 

And must the pathways lead henceforth apart, 
Of those whose love unto such magnitude 
Has grown, 
That unto each the other's heart 
Is known, 
And every throb is understood? 

And what the mighty force can overcome. 
Resistless, overwhelming passion's power. 
Whose height 
And depth to speak the lips are dumb; 
Whose light 
Illumes and charms night's darkest hour? 

Can lightning's flame consume, or fire devour 
That which of flame is born, on fire is fed? 
What thought 
Of death, to make love fear has power, 
When naught 
Is death but life, if love is dead? 

Though love through sorrow leads and suffering, 
Can woe unloose the chains that love has bound ? 
Resign 



78 LOVE'S PLAINT AND PRAYER. 

To pain, shall love his throne? A king 
Divine 
Is love in tribulation found. 

Oh, that is but the counterfeited thing 

Which measures and divides and calculates 
Its hold; 
Great passion is not bound by ring 
Of gold, 
Is kindled not by grand estates. 

Think you, if love had gift of prophecy, 
And all things unto its prophetic eyes 
Were shown. 
And all the heartaches sure to be 
Were known. 
That it would shrink in anywise? 

We reach the height of passion's power supreme 
But through the heart's supremest agony ; 
And when 
The heart may crushed and breaking seem, 
Pain then 
Becomes divinest ecstasy, 



SUMMER RAIN. 79 

If through it a more perfect love we know ; 
To live, to die, to serve and hope and wait, — 
In all 
To share whatever of weal or woe 
Befall,— 
Love seeks and asks no better fate. 



SUMMER RAIN. 

Oh, summer rain ! glad summer rain ! 
When corn-blades writhe as if in pain. 

And leaf and blossom everywhere 
Are withering in the sun's hot ray; 

When drifting dust fills all the air, 
And clouds that sweep along the way 
Turn golden-rod and asters gray, — 
Oh, welcome, summer rain ! 

Oh, summer rain ! sweet summer rain ! 
When lowing cattle seek in vain 

For well-known pool to slake their thirst. 
And in the brooklet's stony bed 

Find scarcely once a draught, where erst 



gQ SUMMER RAIN. 

By banks now brown with grasses dead, 
So boisterously the waters sped, — 
Oh, welcome, summer rain ! 

Oh, summer rain! fair summer rain! 
To those who cross the distant plain 

Away from fertile fields and streams; 
Where barren deserts scorch and blaze, 

And thirst a fire consuming seems. 
As wearily drag out the days 
Beneath the blistering tropic rays, — 
Oh, welcome, summer rain! 

Oh, summer rain! kind summer rain! 
When one we love has wasting lain 

On weary bed, with fever burned; 
And scarce we mark the pulse's beats, 

And on each throb our hope is turned, 
As through the lattice's parted cleats. 
The cooler breath the sick one greets,— 
Oh, welcome, summer rain ! 

Oh, summer rain ! cool summer rain ! 
When slowly rolls the squeaking wain 

Through all the lengthened, melting day. 
As jaded steeds, with gall and smart. 

Creep on along the dust-clogged way, 



SUMMER RAIN. 81 

And tire and felloe fall apart, 
Defying the mechanic's art, — 
Oh, welcome, summer rain! 

Oh, summer rain, free summer rain ! 
What blessings follow in its train ! 

O'erhead and underneath our feet, 
All living things are beautified ; 

The stifling air grows cool and sweet. 
And vision reaching far and wide. 
Greets miracles on every side. 

Wrought by the summer rain. 

Oh, summer rain ! pure summer rain ! 
From lily's robe is washed the stain; 

The scarlet poppies brighter glow; 
Brown bumblebees, with new delight, 

Delve in the thistle's purple blow ; 
And lustre of the circling white 
Rays of the daisies dims the sight, — 
Oh, welcome, summer rain ! 

Oh, summer rain ! rich summer rain ! 
When fruitful months go by again. 
And yellow sheaf and ripened ear 
8 



32 WHEN I AM DEAD. 

Are garnered in the plethoric bin, 

And winter comes all lean and sere; 
For all the treasures gathered in, 
For all our toil has helped to win, 
We bless the summer rain. 



WHEN I AM DEAD. 

When I am dead : 
And dark earth hides me from the sight of men, 

Strew only flowers above my head. 
That you would bring me were I living then. 

When I am dead : 
No words let your lips speak of me in praise 

Because the living spark has fled 
But you would say of me were true always. 

When I am dead: 
What I have sinned, what wrong have done to 
men. 

Curse me not for, nor seek, instead, 
To turn my vices into virtues then. 



RESIGNATION. 83 

When I am dead : 
Carve on my stone, nor word, nor line, nor verse, 

But they who knew me must have said. 
It were like him, — no better and no worse. 

When I am dead : 
As if I were yet of you, speak of me; 

These scenes sometimes, revisited. 
Will seem like old times, then, if it may be. 



RESIGNATION. 

Ourselves we are unfaithful to : 

We waste strength in complaints and sighs. 
Nor find the best that in us lies. 

Achieving not what we might do 

With common things before our eyes. 

It seems so hard for us to know 
The measure of our happiness 
Is rightly gauged, or more or less. 

Not by the grapes around us grow. 
But by the wine from them we press. 



84 RESIGNATION. 

If we could have what we have not, 
Or look up to some fairer skies, 
We think, or we had wings to rise 

Above conditions of our lot, 

That we should find our paradise. 

It is for us the world to take 
Just as we find it here and there. 
And with the pittance of our share 

Of its imperfect things, to make 
Each day a blessing rich and fair. 

Our problem is, what is to use. 
And what may be, from it divine; 
The humblest gift the fates consign. 

It is not wisdom to refuse 

Because for something else we pine. 

The harvest shall come by and by 

To him who leaves behind the wailing crowd ; 

What matters if thick darkness shroud, 
Or mists shall gather in the sky, 

The blue is e'er above the cloud. 



ONE AFTERNOON. 85 



ONE AFTERNOON. 

The poppies on their stems did hardly sway; 
The ripening June grass showed a purple tinge ; 
The wide lagoon 
Far to the east in glowing beauty lay; 
Upon the western sky hung rosy fringe, 
One afternoon. 

Eye dazzled with the lustre of the leas; 
Ear but the harmony of silence heard; 
The winds their croon 
Had hushed, and scarce a leaf upon the trees, 
Although with their full glory crowned, was 
stirred. 
One afternoon. 

A dream of Paradise the wheat-lands lay ; 
Earth's warring elements were sunken in 
A death-like swoon. 
Overcome by sweetness of the perfect day. 
And far away seemed bitterness and sin, 
One afternoon. 
8* 



86 ONE AFTERNOON. 

Girt with a silken sash around the waist, 

Adown the green and crimson aisles one came 
With noiseless shoon, 
Whom all the bluebirds seemed to know, and haste 
To greet with song, and with her kinship claim, 
One afternoon. 

The waning day in throes of splendor died. 
And gathered on the primrose leaves the dew; 
But the faint moon 
Her crescent hung above, no place beside 
One-half so fair, — so dear the meadow grew. 
One afternoon. 

I cannot tell the thoughts that burned my brain, 
Nor sing the melody that filled my soul 
With rapture soon; 
And only know divinest art were vain 
E'er to express joy to my heart that stole 
One afternoon. 



AN IDYL OF THE SPRING. 87 



NATUKE'S JEWELS. 

Wkought out of emerald, the quaint designs, 

In blade and leaf and frond, she first displays ; 
In amethyst and opal she outlines 

Them on the blossoms of the summer days ; 
In ruby tints and gold they glow again, 

When breath of autumn field and wood sweeps 
o'er; 
On winter nights, upon the window-pane, 

In silver they are pictured out once more. 



AN IDYL OF THE SPRING. 

Poetry is everywhere : 

Stand beside the bubbling spring. 
Hearken to the whispering 

Of the rhythmic voices there. 

Hear the tender melodies 

Piped upon the slender reeds ; 
Watch the winged thistle-seeds 

Flying upward to the skies. 



88 AN IDYL OF THE SPRING. 

See the pendent laces cling 

To the rough projecting rocks ; 
Maybe fallen from the frocks 

Of the Naiads loitering. 

See that supple, writhing form 
Far out on the reaching stone, 
Spying out a world unknown. 

Hero-like, though but a worm. 

Do you catch the glint of wings. 
Or the war-cry of the bee 
Pilfering the raspberry 

That out o'er the water swings? 

Here are spire and arch and line, 
Every form of perfect grace 
Crowded in this narrow space. 

Fashioned but with skill divine. 

By the zephyr tossed and whirled. 
Here are myriad forms of life; 
Here is all the mimic strife 

Of a little bustling world. 



HUSKS 89 



HUSKS. 

The serried rank and file I walked among; 
The broad, thick blades above my shoulders 
spread ; 
To every waist a silken girdle hung, 

While countless mottled plumes waved o'er my 
head. 
Men prophesied rich harvesting 
In autumn days my field would bring; 
But, oh, the cruel mockery ! 
To find where many an ear should be 
Nothing but husks. 

So I have looked upon the forms of men 

By nature fashioned for some mighty end, 
Whose vision ranged beyond the common ken. 
Whom every Christian grace seemed to befriend ; 
And I have said, These lives, behold ! 
A precious harvest will unfold; 
But, oh, the cruel mockery ! 
To find where some good fruit should be 
Nothing but husks. 



90 FOREVER. 



FOREVER. 

Whoever smites the wrong, the right upholding 

In spite of error's clamoring cries; 
Whoe'er uproots the false, the truth unfolding 

Along the paths where ignorance lies; 
Whoe'er opposes vice is nobly giving 

To virtue's cause his best endeavor ; 
However lowly life he lives, is living 

A life to be forgotten never. 

Whoever lifts his hand against oppression, 

Where'er the blighting curse may fall ; 
Whoever makes his life a sweet expression 

Of love, of equal rights for all ; 
Whoe'er the work of hand or brain bestowing 

Assists the tyrant's chains to sever ; 
Though humble deeds he does, some seed is sowing. 

Whose fruit will gladden hearts forever. 

Whoe'er to an afflicted brother, needing. 

Extends the hand of charity ; 
Whoe'er binds up a heart that's broken, bleeding, 

With bonds of love and sympathy ; 



SNOW-FLAKES. 91 

Whoe'er by kindly word or act bestowing, 
Binds hearts of men more close together; 

His deeds, through rolling years, in beauty growing. 
Shall live in memory forever. 

Whoe'er from sin and shame and degradation 

Assists an erring one to rise; 
Whoe'er with life itself upholds the nation 

If freedom needs the sacrifice; 
Whoe'er lives not for selfish ends and glory, 

The law of love forgetting never; 
His name, though written not in song and story. 

Will live in human hearts forever. 



SNOW-FLAKES. 

Maybe these myriad crystals in the air. 
That linger on my face and in my hair, 
And throw a misty veil across the skies, 
Are winged particles of the chilled song 
Of merry birds that used to greet my eyes; 
Whose mellow notes were echoed everywhere 
Before these sunless days and nights, so long. 
Had frozen up their liquid melodies. 



92 SNOW-FLAKES. 

Maybe, for all their seeming artlessness, 
Next summer's secrets they might now confess; 
That peach and lilac's graces in them lie 
Concealed, and only wait the charm of May 
To quicken into bloom with her caress. 
When, lo! a miracle, the world will cry, 
For every spot where once a white flake lay, 
Will lift some blade or blossom towards the sky. 

Maybe a message on their unseen wings 
Is borne — if I could understand all things — 
From some dear one that now I know no more. 
Although once of my very life a part; 
Who yet remembers on some distant shore 
Beyond the range of mortal ears, and sings 
To soothe the anguish of my stricken heart, 
And wake again sweet memories of yore. 

Maybe these forms of innocence and grace 
The storm whirls wildly now against my face, 
In that pure land from this so far away 
My angel sister's stainless lips have kissed. 
And at her bidding cleave the realms of space, 
Themselves the masters of the winds that play 
With them, and seem to drive them where they list : 
Ah ! who can tell whose messengers are they ? 



SONQ OF THE WIND. 93 



APART. 

A RIVULET runs at my feet, — 
How still its water glides; 

But these high banks can never meet 
Which this small stream divides. 

A word, — a little thing, I wis, — 

That easily is said; 
But spoken once, how strange is this 

Love afterwards is dead ! 



SONG OF. THE WIND. 

I BLOW, blow, blow ! 

For I am the wind ; from afar I come 

With bluster and might and speed ; 

The crystals of snow. 
As I toss the thistle-seed, 
I whirl and carry with me as I roam. 
And blow, blow, blow. 
9 



94 SONG OF THE WIND. 

I crash, crash, crash ! 
For I am the wind; and the mocking trees 
That stand along ray way 

I lash, lash, lash ; 
Their branches I snap and sway. 
Or their trunks I shiver and break as I please. 
And crash, crash, crash. 



I sweep, sweep, sweep 
Over the dark and limitless sea; 
As the face of the waters I kiss, 

They leap, leap, leap; 
Their writhing to me is bliss; 
As they foam and seethe in their agony, 
I sweep, sweep, sweep. 



I blow, blow, blow 
On the sail spread out to catch my breeze, 
And the canvas full I fill 

For weal or woe; 
The ship is rocked at my will. 
As around and beneath it I swell the seas. 
And blow, blow, blow. 



SONG OF THE WIND. 95 

I roar, roar, roar, 
And it echoes on the mountain height; 
Yalley and prairie wide 

I litter o'er; 
The castles, men build in their pride, 
I turn upon in my fury, and smite. 
And roar, roar, roar. 



I rave, rave, rave. 
And destroy, yet blessings I carry, too; 
While I make men tremble with fear, 

I save, save, save 
From many a pestilence near; 
To cleanse the air and sweeten the dew, 
I rave, rave, rave. 



I break, break, break 
With my startling cadences on the ear; 
Through the door I follow each guest, 

And take, take, take 
Of the feast a scent of the best ; 
Through bars and bolts unseen, without fear, 
I break, break, break. 



96 NOVEMBER. 

I pass, pass, pass 
Over the violet's bended head; 
At my lightest touch quivereth 

The slender grass ; 
While the daisy sways with my breath, 
And the clover shrinks from my tread, 
I pass, pass, pass. 

I drink, drink, drink 
From fountain and river on my way. 
And I drape the sky with the cloud ; 

I sink, sink, sink 
It with flash and with thunder loud 
To the earth, and its thirst the waters allay 
I drink, drink, drink. 



NOVEMBER. 



She wears a scanty, fretted gown, 
And all her garb is dingy brown. 
She carries on her face a frown. 

And always seems so grave and sober ; 



NOVEMBER. 97 

No flashing fire leaps from her eyes, 
And woodlands gold and scarlet dyes; 
No gaudy banners on the skies 

She hangs, as did our lost October. 

Grass-blades grow stiif beneath her feet, 
And herds find them no longer sweet ; 
If she the last wild aster meet, 

With fear its blue lips pale and quiver; 
No gorgeous emblems of her might 
She bears, yet in a single night 
She thatches roofs with crystals white, 

And weaves ice-fringes on the river. 

Her wild breath tosses to and fro 

October's plumage, lying low. 

Which, with her flurries of light snow 

She makes vain effort at concealing; 
As with a veil of pleasantries 
The wounded heart so often tries 
To hide the scar that in it lies, 

When only time can bring it healing. 

The perishing of fond desire, 

Some mighty passion's burned out fire 



98 ^ MEMORY. 

Still smouldering on its funeral pyre, 
She seems forever pantomiming; 

And yet, for all her sombre lays 

And dull monotony of days, 

The stricken heart must know always, 
Beyond, the Christmas bells are chiming. 



A MEMORY. 

I MARK it in the cooler rain, 
I read it on the curling fern : 

The march of death steals on again, 
The gold and crimson hues return. 

Once more the wild thorn's fruited top 
O'erhangs the cradle-knoll of ferns ; 

The beech-tree clasps again its crop. 
Again for it the squirrel yearns. 

As lustily the cricket sings, 

As gorgeously the hill-tops glow, 

Yet every hint of autumn brings 
Back one sad face of long ago. 



THE WINTER WOODS. 99 

And I can almost feel again * 

The pressure of one wasting hand ; 

And catch from lips, that knew no stain, 
Breathings, methinks, I understand. 

Sometimes the whispers chide me so 

My quickened conscience pricks me sore; 

Yet with new hope life is aglow. 
And peace my soul is flooding o^er. 



THE WINTER WOODS. 

How marvellous are draperies 
They hang upon the dull gray skies ! 
How carelessly and with what grace 
Their long brown arms reach into space ! 

The green moss shines amid the dark 
Thick folds of their uneven bark ; 
And their boughs, nude and colorless, 
The fingers of the wind caress. 

A carpet underneath them lies 
More fair than any tapestries 



100 ^^^ WINTER WOODS. 

Which halls of Orient princes fill, 
Or e'er was wrought by human skill. 

Perchance some wizards in the night 
Have hung them all with crystals bright, 
AYhich flash on us from every limb, 
Until our gazing eyes grow dim. 

Again, like prophet's beards they glow, 
O'erburdened with new-fallen snow, 
Or seem, like spectres, weird and grand, 
Inspiring awe on every hand. 

Or each slim bough rare lace hangs on. 
More wonderful than Honiton, 
Which quivers in the icy air. 
And gleams with splendor everywhere. 

Now climbs the sun high o'er the woods, 
And mellows with his wooing; floods 
Of his warm breath over them sweep, 
And all the tree-tops sob and weep. 

And now the air grows chill and dense, 
A cloud hangs over in suspense, 



THE WINTER WOODS. 101 

Then myriad petals downward fly 
Out of the gardens of the sky. 

Lo ! every fern has fronds of white, 
While every bush blooms in our sight; 
And brake and briers bend to greet 
White blossoms heaped up on their feet. 

Amid rare works of art we stand, 
Shaped by some mighty master's hand; 
Unsightly stumps to statues grow, 
Of Phidias or Angelo. 

And groups of nymphs and fauns one sees, 
Fair as those of Praxiteles; 
Some temple must have stood near by, 
For marble columns prostrate lie. 

All things seem passionless and bare. 
And yet divinely pure and fair. 
And filled with silent melody. 
And peace and sweet tranquillity. 



102 "THE UNATTAINED, 



THE UNATTAINED. 

Joy is not in attaining, 

But comes in striving after; 

And days more filled with laughter 

Seem always somewhere just before 

Us ; evermore 
The best of all is that we fail in gaining. 

The things we cannot climb to 

We hold the most inviting; 

Those freest, less requiting; 

The far-off bell another hears 

Beyond our ears, 
Alas ! we think there is a sweeter chime to. 

That which we feast on cloys us; 

In what we taste some bliss is; 

But sweetest that one misses; 

Alas ! for us ! the heaven of each 

Is out of reach ; 
And with what most we long for fate decoys us. 



OVR IDOL. 103 



SELF-MEASUREMENT. 

Who feels the strength of purity 
Conceives not how sin can entice; 

The last of all, therefore, is he 
To look to find in others vice. 

Who entertains deceitfulness. 

Suspicion, too, invades his heart; 

Since he thinks all must needs possess 
That of himself he knows a part. 



OUR IDOL. 



A TARNISHED reputation, it may be. 

The snows of time shall whiten out again ; 

A character once stained, eternity 

Itself, to make it spotless in, were vain. 

With life men shield the reputation, though. 
And sport with character as if a toy; 

Or, possibly, some thought on it bestow 
Lest it the reputation may destroy. 



104 UNDER THE OAK. 

UNDER THE OAK. 

Wood-capped hills above me rise ; 

Near a river winds along; 
Fairer than a poet^s song 

Are the overarching skies. 

Shadows come before the sun ; 

Sombre grows my leafy bower; 
Ah ! the changes of an hour, 

Rain-drops falling one by one. 

Quick a flash zigzags the sky; 

Back to earth the heavens roar; 
Waiting till the storm is o'er, 

Underneath an oak I lie. 

Bright o'er head again the sky; 

Changeful is the human heart; 
Tears unasked like rain-drops start. 

And a laugh succeeds a sigh. 



A WINTER SONG. 105 



A WINTER SONG. 

The round high moon throws a misty light 
On forest and field below; 
With the cold of the night my fingers tingle, 
And the frost is turning my chestnut white, 
As swiftly over the snow 
We merrily go, 
With bells that jingle, with bells that jingle. 

The stream is frozen, the fences are white. 

And chill are the winds that blow ; 
In many a song blithe voices mingle. 
With many a laugh is startled the night, 
As flying over the snow 
We merrily go, 
With bells that jingle, with bells that jingle. 

The moon rolls on, grows older the night. 

And the trees long shadows throw; 
Around the hill and down the dingle, — 
Our hearts are warm though the drifts are white, 
As gliding over the snow 
We merrily go. 
With bells that jingle, with bells that jingle. 
10 



106 WHY 'DO WE LIVE 9 WHY DO WE DIE? 



WHY DO WE LIVE? WHY DO 
WE DIE? 

The drop a passing cloud may spill, 
The blighted leaf that falls before its time, 
The crystal sun-kissed from its bed of rime, 

So narrow is the space we fill. 

The yearning heart lifts up its cry. 
We seek to know the way, and long for light 
To see beyond the darkness of the night, 

But helplessly we strive, and die. 

We climb up to some height and fall. 
And grieve that we are hurled back to the ground ; 
What we have missed another soon has found. 

And God is ruling over all. 

With tearful eyes to Death we give 
Up one we think we cannot do without; 
And all the world is wrapped in fear and doubt, 

God only knows why then Ave live. 



WATER-CRESSES. 107 

And then we struggle hopelessly 
When we feel that so much upon our lives 
Depends, and death with life for mastery strives, 

God only knows why then we die. 

We marvel at God's mystery. 
And follow blindly where His hands may lead; 
And this we only know, that hearts must bleed. 

And we must live, and we must die. 



WATER-CRESSES. 

One idling day. 
Yet in life's May, 

Some little seed of water-cress I flung away 
Beside the cool, sweet waters of a haunted spring : 
But, lo! I could not tell the harvest they would 
bring. 

O'er land and sea, 

As fate led me, 

In waiting labor-fields I sought my destiny; 



108 REVELATION. 

I sowed and tilled ; received men's curses and their 

praise ; 
Still toiled and strove through winter's cold and 

summer's blaze. 

Years afterward, 

Again I heard 

The song my old haunt's overflow of waters stirred ; 

Far as the eye could see grew water-cresses rank; 

Andj lo ! I traced them to the distant river's bank. 

Life's harvesting, 

What shall it bring? 

Oh, will the seed be like that scattered by the 

spring ? 
Its yield be manifold as water-cresses grow? 
But, lo! I tremble sometimes lest it may be so. 



KEVELATION. 

The fleshly veil was lifted from my sight, 

I dreamed ; 
Two, whom I knew, revealed were in the light. 

It seemed. 



LOVE MARKS THE SEASONS. 109 

And I had fallen prostrate at the feet 
Of one, — the idol of my heart was she; 

But one in fellowship I did not greet, 
So wide the gulf between, apparently. 

But disentranced, I loathe and scorn the thing 
I loved, so full of cruel black deceit ; 

And that pure soul I spurned, lo ! worshipping, 
I kiss the ground whereon have pressed her feet. 



LOVE MAKKS THE SEASON. 

When desolation holds its sway. 

And hearts are cold and love is dead. 
And friendship's warmth is waning. 
Though fragrant bloom the locusts shed. 
For all the lark's sweet carols say. 
The winter months are reigning. 

When hope is brave, and love is king. 
And lives are linked with endless vows, 

And hearts cease from repining, 
Though fierce winds scar the naked boughs, 
For all the lake's cold covering, 
The summer days are shining. 
10- 



110 OUR KING. 



OUR KING. 

FouE fingers, mellow as a plum, 
Fit but to be caressed and kissed, 

With just a wee bit of a thumb 
Rolled up into a dainty fist. 

On either foot five tiny toes. 
All coiled up in a little heap, 

And every toe pink as a rose. 
The tally of a dimple deep. 

Like sunbeams curled up on the head 
Lie amber tufts of silken hair ; 

For cheeks two peaches round and red, 
And dimples, dimples everywhere. 

Bits of the blue of heaven the eyes, 

Tip of a lily's bud the nose; 
And wlien he laughs and when he sighs. 

Two pink-lined pearls unclasp and close. 



HOW KIND IS DEATH! HI 

He cannot work, he cannot think, 
Yet he is wise and cunning too; 

And he can smile, and he can wink 
More easily than gray beards do. 

He cannot talk, he cannot sing. 

And hardly climbs along the floor; 

But of an empire he is king. 

And never king like him before. 



HOW KIND IS DEATH! 

As all now see the wan, sweet face 
Of her who lies there peacefully, 

Remembrance of her bloom and grace, 
Through all the years to come will be. 

Yet I know that before their eyes 
I must grow old with every breath ; 

And so my heart in anguish cries, 
How cruel life ; how kind is death ! 



112 KING SHAM. 



KING SHAM. 

Since the fiat supreme was spoken, 
And the reign of chaos broken, 
Many rulers great and small 
Have lived their day, 
And held their sway 
Upon this terrestrial ball ; 
Yet the mightiest monarch of all 
Is the great King Sham. 

Ere old Rome had one to defend her. 
Ere the dawn of Grecian splendor, 
Or the march of Xenophon ; 
Ere the Iliad was sung, 
Or the gardens hung 
Of the gorgeous Babylon : 
Who can tell when the reign was begun 
Of the great King Sham ? 

Though the empires of ancient story, 
Of whose warrior kings the glory 
And valor are told in song, 



KING SHAM. 113 

Fell into decay, 

And vanished away, 
Through weakness and vice and wrong. 
Yet the weakness of men makes strong 
The great King Sham. 



To him we are vassals ever, — 
And another such tyrant never 
Has ruled on the earth anywhere; 
For, whom we shall meet, 
And when we shall eat. 
What the tint shall be of our hair, 
And the heel of the shoe we wear, 
Decrees King Sham. 



His subjects he takes from all stations 
In life; for in all occupations 
Men are eager to do his will; 
His prey are the whole; 
He has control 
Of traffic, of counter, and till. 
And grinds at every man's mill. 
The great King Sham. 



114 KING SHAM. 

He assumes all manner of graces, 
Though false at all times and places, 
And always a despot still ; 
The stripes of our socks, 
The cut of our frocks, 
Or whatever garments we fill, 
All are work — and so is the bill — 
Of the great King Sham. 

He allures and dazzles and flatters 
With the gilded baubles he scatters, 
Till the vision blinds our eyes ; 
His mockeries to vice 
And folly entice. 
And we break the holiest ties 
And our very souls sacrifice 
To the great King Sham. 

What tax he levies we bear it, 
Though we live in a cellar or garret, 
And cash and the coal-bin are low ; 
Though we bite of a crust, 
Yet serve him we must. 
For out of his kingdom we go. 
If ever we dare to say no 

To the great King Sham, 



KING SHAM. 115 

He fashions from pulpit to steeple 
The place where his worshipping people 
Are wont to gather to pray; 
And living or dead, 
If we die or are wed, 
The proper amount of display 
Becoming, is gauged alway 
By the great King Sham. 

Seek the law, whether saint or sinner 
You -are proven to be, ever thinner 
And thinner your pocket-book grows; 
One pleads your case. 
One paints your disgrace. 
The jurors the verdict disclose; 
How to beat him who wins it, knows 
The great King Sham. 

The doctor one calls ; first he scares him. 
Then, maybe, a little repairs him. 
And a marvellous cure is done 
With his mighty skill, 
Or magical pill ; 
So from everything under the sun. 
Tribute and glory are won 

For the great King Sham. 



116 KING SHAM. 

You buy wheat, — it is nothing but paper; 
Your profit is nothing but vapor, 
Though you painfully realize 
It if luck goes wrong; 
Then you sing a new song, 
And quickly open your eyes, 
Alas ! to the cunning that lies 
In the great King Sham. 

Not till truth than falsehood is dearer, 
And our soul-lit vision is clearer. 

Will the strength of this monarch wane ; 
But who can foretell 
When the magical spell 
Of his power will be rent in twain. 
Or the end of the farcical reign 
Of the great King Sham? 

If only true gold were gleaming 
And yellow, if always the seeming 
Were real and true, and within 
Was always the grace 
That we read on tlie face. 
And the heart had no hidden sin, 
The ruin would surely begin 
Of the great King Sham. 



WARNING. 117 

Sometimes, in the midst of our sorrow, 
Is cheer in the thought of a morrow. 
When that sorrow will be no more ; 
When toil is done. 
And our crowns are won, 
And we cross to the other shore 
At last, the sway will be o'er 
Of the great King Sham. 



WARNING. 



I SAW a red, red bud unfolding 

Its beauty to the quickening air; 
I saw two red lips that were burning 

With prisoned kisses, — hearts, beware ! 

The rose's red petals yet shall shatter 

The pitiless blast of the rain; 
Red lips, what heart for you shall quiver 

And break, pierced through with bitterest pain ? 



11 



118 MY NEIGHBOR. 



MY NEIGHBOR. 

My neighbor's garden blossoms fair 
With rose and pink and daffodil ; 
In vain my efforts are to till, 

And all my fields are bleak and bare. 

My neigllbor^s mill brings him in toll 
From all there be who come thereto; 
My own brown hands have work to do 

The while love's thrill goes through my soul. 

My neighbor has some store of gold, 

And I have memories to keep; 

My toil each day each night brings sleep, 
And in some hearts a place I hold. 

My neighbor's vineyard, fair to see, 

Has purple grapes a clustering; 

Each morn a bluebird comes to sing 
A little song just made for me. 



THE SPIRIT OF THE BELL. UQ 

My neighbor has much to him given, 

A heritage of wealth and lands; 

My heritage is just two hands, 
And work gives law, but love makes heaven. 

Yet, while love's strength uplifts my hands. 
My heart need not go hungering. 
My heart need not be envying 

My neighbor's riches or his lands. 



THE SPIRIT OF THE BELL. 

I STOOD far underneath a mighty dome; 

The air grew tremulous with giant throes 
Of its far-reaching bell ; " Why have you come ? 
What is your mission here to-day?'' 
As each one through the open portals goes, 
The bell's loud spirit seemed to say. 

Upon the brow of each unconsciously 

Was borne some characters I could not read. 
It seemed, until an angel read for me; 



120 I'HE SPIRIT OF THE BELL. 

So each man's heart to me was showu; 

No matter what his race, or cloth, or creed, 

His secret thoughts to me were known. 

Men came with saintly mien and lordly sway, 

Great in their own conceit, and swelled with pride, 
As if they were made of some better clay. 
Who mingled with this motley throng, 
And grandly swung within the portals wide. 
Whose hearts, I saw, were black with wrong. 

Some came with evil purposes intent. 

With features that had something yet of grace, 
Whose hearts were all with passion soiled and rent; 
And there were those who pressed within 
Who sought through voice of men to gain high 
place. 
And hither came to favor win. 

And I saw enter there a stately dame 

In robe that fashion her approval gave; 
She bore an ancient and respected name, 
Her hands in jewelled splendor shone. 
Yet in the toils of sin she writhed, a slave. 
Her heart to honor dead as stone. 



THE SPIRIT OF THE BELL. 121 

And some whose souls were stained with crime, I 



saw 



Whom fear had led into this holy place, 
And not remorse ; whom vengeance of the law 
Awaited, swift and sure, if known, 
Who yet with characters veneered with grace 
In stolen garb of Christians shone. 

But there were many, with such modest ways. 
On whom at first my eyes did scarcely rest, 
Who seemed unconscious of the public's gaze, 
Or of themselves, who meekly went 
Within, and in humility confessed 

That in Christ's love they were content; 

That to the angel that beside me stood 

I turned and prayed that he would blind my eyes 
Again, that I might only know the good, 
And that I nevermore might see 
The wickedness in human hearts that lies. 
But think all as they seem to be. 

The spirit of the bell rang out once more. 

And, as if in its last expiring throe. 
More thrilling seemed than it had been before: 
11* 



122 ^LL IN ALL. 

"To search thy neighbor's heart is vain 
To find wrong in thine own, O Mortal, know !" 
And I was pierced with mighty pain. 



ALL IN ALL. 

When I shall look into your face 

And find not there the boon I crave, 
And in your glance no longer trace 

The outlines of the love you gave 
And pledged me with your sacred vow. 

Though on my face warm is your breath, 
And hot blood flushes yet your brow. 

Oh, then, to me, it will be death. 

But while I know that, all in all, 

I am to you and you to me. 
That, weal or woe, whatever befall, 

Our love cannot divided be, 
Your dimming eyes in death may close, 

Your throbbing pulse may cease its strife, 
By magic that love only knows. 

To me, e'en then there will be life. 



LOVE'S MESSENGER. 123 



LOVE'S MESSENGEK. 

Off of the waste of emerald lea 

Under my feet, 
A wild red rose I pluck for thee, 

My sweet! 

If touched once by thy finger-tips, 
Or breathed upon by thy fair lips. 
And heat or cold, by breath that blows, 
Or glance out of thine eye it knows, 
And thou dost send it back to me, 
Though all its petals lose their red, 
And it shall wither in my grasp. 
And seem to die. 
The rose will not to me be dead, 
Which once the pressure of thy clasp 
Has known ; yet I 
In each brown leaf a rose shall see. 
And breathings of its perfume rare 
Something of thee to me shall bear. 



124 'J'HE DIFFERENCE. 

But if thou crush it with thy feet, 
Oh, would that I, then, it might be. 
To know if any agony 

In death by thee can be, my sweet! 



THE DIFFERENCE. 

When she was five, and I was ten, 

Implicitly she did obey me; 
For slightest favors shown her then, 

With rapturous kisses she did pay me. 

I cared but little for her then. 

But little, too, I cared to please her; 

And I was most delighted when 

I could find some new way to tease her. 

Now she is seventeen, and I, 

A youth of twenty-two, would woo her; 
But I quail now before her eye, 

And tremble when I come near to iier. 

My lips refuse to make appeal 
To this, the fairest of all misses; 

Though I would be her slave, to feel 
The rapture of one of her kisses. 



THISTL E-D WN. 1 25 



A VALENTINE. 



A VAST and dreary waste of drifted snow 

Extended far as human eye can see ; 
A piercing air, and yon and hither blow 

The fleecy flakes as changeful winds decree, — 

Sure harbingers of deeper drifts to be ; 
The clouds hang low, and all the gloomy day 
The sun, obscure, sends out no kindling ray; 

Snow crowns the roof, icicles fringe the eaves; 

On window-panes the frost his lace- work weaves ; 
The swaying tree-tops sing a mournful lay; 

The yeoman grieves o'er cold and care and kine, 
The traveller mourns o'er drifts that clog his way ; 

And yet, what warmth, what cheer, oh, heart of 



mine 



Can cold chill love, my sweet, my valentine? 



THISTLE-DOWN. 

Go, thistle-down, that idly drifts the drowsy air, 

I speed thee with my breath ! 
Go, softly press her brow than lily is more fair, 
The breathings of my burning passion to her bear ; 



126 COLUMBINE. 

If any glance up from her eye divine, 

Aught in it hath 
Betokens peace unto the heart of mine, 
Come, whisper it to me, O thistle-down. 

Come, thistle-down, adrift upon the lazy air. 

Stirred by her gentle breath : 
Too long you linger in caresses of her hair, 
The breathing of her stainless lips unto me bear; 
If voice or flaming cheeks give any sign 

That gladdeneth. 
Or bringeth peace unto the heart of mine. 
Come, whisper it to me, O thistle-down. 



COLUMBINE. 

Nodding as her fleet 
Footsteps pass, the clover-blossoms greet her. 

Columbine, 

Darling mine; 

Sipping ruby Avine, 
In their passion's heat. 
From her lips so sweet. 



EGLANTINE. 127 

Zephyr-lovers idly roaming meet her, 

Bend down to her feet, 
Kiss and make the clover-blossoms sweeter. 



With a lily's grace 
Charmed, a sunbeam lover would secure her; 
Columbine, 
Darling mine. 
Then his arms entwine : 
Kisses touch her face; 
Warmed in the embrace, 
Back then goes the cunning lover, surer, 

To the trysting place. 
Kisses, wins, and makes the lily purer. 



EGLANTINE. 

Many gems of the earth are fair; 

But a queen divine 

Is my Eglantine, — 
A jewel never so rare. 



128 EGLANTINE. 

Was ever so charming a lass? 

Clover-blossoms sweet 

Salute her feet 
As her magic footsteps pass. 

She plucks at her own sweet will 
The daintiest flowers 
Of the woodland bowers, 

Which for her rich fragrance distil. 

Bright buttercups bend with grace 
As she wanders nigh, 
And the wind, stealing by. 

Kisses perfume sweet from her face. 

To innocent beauty weds, 

Since her lips fade the rose ; 
And, when near them she goes, 

The violets bend their heads. 

Fresh plucked from the white fields nigh. 
The many-rayed wreath 
Of the daisy 's her teeth, 

And a sapphire gem is each eye. 



EGLANTINE. 129 

Cupid's arrow, golden-tipped, 

Is each word she speaks ; 

And the pearl of her cheeks 
In the flush of the morning is dipped. 

In her power and modesty meet ; 

In the presence serene 

Of this magical queen 
The forces of evil retreat. 

Her touch is of heaven a gleam ; 

As the stars as fair, 

She reigns everywhere. 
And her heart is love supreme. 

A vision or real? Hast thou place, 

O spirit divine, 

Fairest Eglantine? 
Or a poet's dream is thy grace? 



12 



130 WHITE AND BLUE. 



WHITE AND BLUE. 

She was in the garden, 

In a gown of white and blue 
That was just bewitching: 

Noiselessly I nearer drew, 
Not a word was spoken, 

As an arm around I threw, 
Holding fast a pretty 

Little waist of white and blue. 

It was in the twilight. 

In the shadow of the pine. 
That I came upon her. 

And so near — her face and mine — 
Each one touclied a wing of 

Something that between them flew; 
And I thought so pretty 

Was her gown of white and blue. 



THROUGH THE YEAR. 131 



THEOUGH THE YEAR. 

In spring, on every lea, 

From every chaste, coy violet, 

There seems to flash on me 
The very eye of Margaret. 

The songs of summer days, 

Ah me! can I their thrill forget, 

When in the sweetest lays 

I hear the voice of Margaret? 

In autumn, when each tree 

Some wizard has with rubies set ; 

Ah ! then I only see 

The flushing cheeks of Margaret. 

In winter, when soft flakes 

Out of the dreary skies are let. 

One thought in me awakes, — 
So white the soul of Margaret. 



132 GOLDTHREAD 



GOLD-THREAD. 

While yet the banks are dank and cold 

And hardly know the warmth of sun, 
Whose touch the red buds makes unfold 

And life-blood of the birches run, 
A tiny stem shoots up its head, 

And spreads out its white canopy 
Above the litter of the dead 

Leaves that around it lie. 

Brave as the winds that snap and break 

The twigs of dead boughs o'er its head. 
And spotless as the purest flake 

The winter tossed upon its bed ; 
One marvels at the sweet, pale lips. 

And at the tale by them is told : 
Hid in the turf from which it slips 

Are many threads of gold. 

Sweet herald of the fuller bloom, 
It turns its face up to the sky, 

And trembles not at its near doom ; 
So frail a blossom needs must die, 



THE WOOING OF THE ROSE. 133 

And swift the march of its decay ; 

Yet glowing shields of dusky green 
Shall haunt and guard, for many a day, 

The place it once has been. 



Through all these wintry years of ours, 

Set here and there are sunny days 
With bloom and fragrance of white flowers, 

That beautify our roughest ways ; 
And though all bleak and bare and cold 

A life seems, sometimes, outwardly. 
We know bright gleaming threads of gold 

Within it somewhere lie. 



THE WOOING OF THE ROSE. 

On a rose-bush lazily 

Climbing the garden wall, 

The fairest rose of all 
Was wooed by a butterfly. 

12* 



134 ^^^ WOOING OF THE ROSE. 

A graceful dandy was he, 

With dazzling, delicate wings 

All covered with spangles and rings,- 

"But I love you not," said she. 

And so, without more ado. 

To the cloud-land flew the gay, 
Faint-hearted lover away; 

And the next that came to woo 

Was a youth, as bold as needs be, 
With a brownish, tidy suit, 
And a sword, and mighty and cute. 

And a marvel of industry. 

He hummed her many an air. 

And sang of the marvellous walls 
In his own ancestral halls, 

And the treasures gathered there. 

Of her riches she gave him part. 
And loaded him down with gold 
All his tiny sacks would hold. 

But he could not win her heart. 



THE WOOING OF THE ROSE. 135 

Then a dew-drop, seeing the fire 
Of her gown as it flamed its light 
On the gathering gloom of night, 

Besought her with mad desire. 

Again and again her red, 

Sweet lips were bathed in his wine; 

"Evermore I will be thine," 
He sang, as he rolled in her bed. 

But the night was gone, and the dew, 
And a silver sunbeam came. 
And the heart of the rose was aflame ; 

Still redder her petals grew, 

And fairer than ever before ; 

But, alas ! for the fickle thing 

She fell to withering, 
And his kisses revived her no more. 

Then the wind came dancing along 

With bewitching sorceries 

And musical cadences. 
And whispered to her a sweet song. 



136 MF HOLLYHOCKS. 

She was shaken as never before 
When he made his caressing plea; 
"Only go with me/' said he, 

"And we'll roam the wide world o'er/' 

But he tore her petals apart, 
And scattered them one by one, 
And left her dishonored, alone. 

To die of a broken heart. 



MY HOLLYHOCKS. 

My hollyhocks the amorous breeze 
Let sip out of their chalices 

The aromatic wines they hold ; 

While his long arms their waists enfold. 
And they reel just as he decrees. 

From far across the shining leas 
Fly greedy, brown-winged honey bees, 
To rifle of their mellow gold 
My hollyhocks. 



THE DAISY. 137 

These lovers dally as they please, 
And fondle their sweet mistresses ; 

To pluck their hearts the bees are bold ; 

The wind is wroth, grows rough and cold, 
And, bearing off his rivals, frees 
My hollyhocks. 



THE DAISY. 



A THOUSAND perfect gems, wrought out of earth 
and mist and light. 
Into one amber disk are locked ; 
Rare jewels circle it around with rays of spotless 
white ; 
By all the meadow breezes rocked. 
Upon its willow wand it swings. 
This marvel that the summer brings, 
The daisy. 

A myriad of weaknesses by burning lips confess, 
And passion's pain and passion's strife 

Have entered in my soul, disfiguring its loveliness ; 
But He can bless a sin-stained life, 



138 ANEMONE. 

And bleach its darkness into light, 
Whose hands have made so clean and white 
The daisy. 



ANEMONE. 



Upon an edge 
Of a rock, underneath a tree 

Overhanging a ledge 
I found an anemone. 



In so rough a place 
How grew ye, fragile gem. 

So worthy to grace 
A queen's own diadem? 



Oh, tell me, brave 
One, nursed in a barren home, 

The secret you have, — 
Through sorrows do graces come? 



LAPPA. 139 

Is this what you say, — 
No heart is so bleak and bare 

But germs we may 
Find of love and beauty there? 

Must we blossoms gain 
Of resignation sweet 

On the heights of pain, 
Which we scale with wounded feet? 

Can only the stone 
That bruises, the plant give a root. 

From which full-blown 
White flowers of forgiveness shoot? 



LAPPA, 



Each flower has its place. 
Some one gives it embrace. 
Some poet sings its grace. 
But outcasts are thy race. 



140 LAPPA. 

It seems to be thy fate 
To seek haunts desolate, 
And grow and propagate 
Without the garden gate. 

But thou inspirest me, 
Lappa, to sing to thee, 
In that so patiently 
Thou bearest ills that be. 

I praise thee for thy pluck : 
With spade or mattock struck, 
However hard thy luck, 
Thy head is upward stuck. 

Men scoflP at thee and swear, 
Thy cumbrous leaves they tear, 
Thy trunks close down they pare. 
But thou dost live and bear. 

Thy perfume men despise. 
Thy bloom they ostracize; 
Yet in thy purple lies 
Some beauty to my eyes. 



LAPPA. 141 

Aifectionately cling 
The bracts encompassing 
Thy flowers, though withering 
Or dead, to everything. 

And though men curse, they bless 
Thee sometimes in distress; 
The virtue they confess 
E'en of thy bitterness. 

And God made thee for good, 
To live with fortitude 
Thy life of hardihood ; 
Could I shield thee, I would ; 

For wrongs that give thee smart 
Wake pity in my heart; 
Keep, though, from me apart, — 
I like thee — where thou art. 



18 



142 



HEARTS-EASE 



HEART'S-EASE. 

Once, when my love was grieving, 

A tear fell from her eye; 
Out of the earth receiving 

It, grew a pansy by and by. 

But in the face upturning 

Of that low, tear-born flower 
The same dark eye was burning. 

Whose glances thrilled me with their power, 



SWEET-CLOVER. 

Why didst thou tremble, sweet-clover. 
When that brown-winged rover went by. 

And nearer and nearer did hover, 
And then straight down to thee fly? 



AS GOD WILLS. 143 

Did thy sweetheart call thee his deary? 

Or what did he say to thee? 
Do ever thy ears grow weary 

Of his strange, wild minstrelsy? 

Thy lovers are robbers, sweet-clover; 

Thy fragrance afar they scent; 
They plunder thee over and over, 

And will till thy sweetness is spent. 

When the flush of thy bloom shall leave thee. 
And the days of thy beauty are o'er. 

Sweet-clover, then will it grieve thee 
If thy wooers come back nevermore? 



AS GOD WILLS. 

The w^orkings of Thy hand 
Mysterious are. Almighty God ! 

We cannot understand 

Inflictions of Thy chastening rod, 



144 AS GOD WILLS. 

Are we so sorely tried 

To teach humility below? 
Are pleasures here denied 

The better heavenly joys to know? 

Why suffering and woe, 

If love and mercy reign above? 

Doubt readily whispers low, 

"God rules not with the hand of love." 

The voice of Wisdom cries 

Aloud, "All worketh well for good; 
But blessings in disguise. 

Afflictions rightly understood." 

Does not the blackest night 

Oft come before a day most fair? 

The crashing thunder's might 
Foretell a softer, purer air? 

They stand the battle storm 

Who would the victor's laurels wear; 
What matter if some form 

Of burden every day we bear? 



INVOCATION. 145 

Oh, drain without complaint 

The bitter cup unto thee borne ; 
Let not thy spirit faint, 

There yet shall come a brighter morn. 

God rules with loving hand ; 

Oh, question not His love, although 
We cannot understand 

Always why He chastises so. 

O Faith ! point onward still ; 

O God ! grant strength to stand each test ; 
We bow unto Thy will. 

Oh, lead us whither seemeth best. 



INVOCATION. 

The way which Thou hast marked for me to go, 
Dear Lord, oh, let that way be mine ! 

The thing which Thou hast planned for me to know, 
That knowledge. Lord, let me divine; 
13* 



146 OH, PRAISE HIS HOLY NAME! 

The one thing Thou hast now for me to do, 
Grant me the strength to do to-day ; 

And whatsoever Thou leadest me unto, 
Help me that to accept alway. 

Each passing hour vouchsafed to me, dear Lord, 

In this great gift of life I take 
From Thee ; oh, let each thought, and deed, and 
word, 

Help me the most of it to make; 
So shall I climb up to my destiny ; 

And, though the path be hard and steep, 
I know that my weak hands will strengthened be 

Always with Thy love, strong and deep. 



OH, PRAISE HIS HOLY NAME! 

God's sky is overhead, 

God's fields beneath our feet; 
Above, below, 
All creatures know 
His love; the poppy's red, 
The pansy's hue, the sweet 



OH, PRAISE HIS HOLY NAME 1 I47 

Of rose 

God's love bestows, — 
Oh, praise his holy name ! 



God's sun lights up the day, 
God's stars illume the night; 
Behold his love ! 
Below, above, 
O'er all things it has sway ; 
The glow-worm's tiny light 
Is his. 

The lightning is, — 
Oh, praise His holy name! 



God's rain falls on the earth, 
God's rainbow spans the skies; 
His love, behold. 
How manifold ! 
Riches of untold worth 
Pour from His treasuries; 
His hand 

Makes glad the land, — 
Oh, praise His holy name! 



148 EASTER LILIES. 

God's waters fill the seas, 
And all in them are His ; 
No living thing 
But owns Him king, 
And bows to His decrees ; 
For all His mercy is; 
No cry 

He passes by, — 
Oh, praise His holy name! 



EASTER LILIES. 

A SCENT of lilies in the air, — 
A hint of gladness every where,- 
Broken the seal to-day. 
The stone is rolled away. 



With fragrance earth so flooding o'er 
So fair were lilies e'er before? 

All doubt is swept away. 

Is what the lilies say. 



EASTER LILIES. I49 

Oh, lilies pure, oh, lilies white, 
Ye tokens of the holy light. 

Enfolding us alway. 

And turning night to day ! 

Hail sacred morning, come again 
With your glad message unto men ! 

The Christ arose to-day. 

Is what your lilies say. 

With pallid lips, with sorrow dumb. 
No more they tremble at the tomb 

Where He was laid away, — 

The Saviour rose to-day. 

Bring lilies, then, white lilies bring. — 
His love will crown our offering; 

And men shall bless for aye 

The Lord who rose to-day. 



150 ^N EASTER GREETING. 



AN EASTER GREETING. 

Day of days to mortal men, 

Light of all the centuries, 

Hope of ages yet unborn, 

Harbinger of joys supernal, 

Hail, oh, sacred morn ! 

Garland it with lilies white, 

Pure as its unfading light; 

Through the darkness of death's night 

Glory shines of morn eternal. 

All the universe rejoices, 

And with myriad gentle voices, 

SUimbering nature, waking, cries : 

" He is risen, nothing dies ;" 

All her icy clasps unclose. 

And again to life are stirred 

Germs, that, underneath the snows, 

In a wintry trance have lain ; 

Though ye wither, though ye rot. 

Death and cold ye crush in vain, 

Since the bloom returns again. 



AN EASTER GREETING. 151 

Every tender blade that springs 

From the mould of meadows bleak, 

Heralding the harvesting; 

Every soft, sweet note of bird 

As it mates and nests and sings, — 

E'en the lazy worm that lies 

In the sunbeam, fattening 

For the hungry robin's beak, — 

Each its wealth of promise brings, 

All of Him arisen speak ; 

Though the struggle and the cry. 

Though the death- wound and the smart. 

Evermore the crown is nigh ; 

Jesus lives, and death is not ; 

It is written everywhere, — 

In the winds, more softly blowing. 

In the sun, more brightly glowing. 

In the streams, more freely flowing. 

In the red buds, redder growing, 

In the fields, and in the skies. 

In the lilies, — in all things; 

In the yearnings of the heart. 

In each hope and in each prayer. 



152 RECEIVE ME. 



KECEIVE ME. 

To no one have I done a wrong, — 
Lord, who of us can say it ? 
Thy anger, wilt Thou stay it? 

Receive me ! this my song 

Is all day long. 

And I have not corrupted one, — 
Oh, could we only know it ! 
Lord, may Thy record show it; 

Receive me, Father, Son, 

When toil is done. 

And I have taken only mine, — 
There is not one that liveth 
Hath aught save what God giveth; 

Receive me into Thine 

Own, Lord divine ! 



CHANCE. 153 



CHANCE. 

Where fallow fields are fierce and desolate, 
Beside which winds a roadway thinly grown 
With sickly plants, whose germs the winds have 
blown 

From far, and wantonly left to their fate; 

Where fearless woos the bird his timid mate 
In tangled copse to sunlight scarcely known. 
Or clumps of ferns along the marshes strown ; 

Where all things seem in quite abandoned state. 
Hemmed in with luxury of wilderness, 
I came upon a sweet, fair clover-bed. 

Ah me ! our ways from birth until we die 
Lie over marsh and moor, or more or less, 
And thither we are often blindly led 

To blessings where we little think they lie. 



14 



154 TEST. 



TEST. 

If to some goal on which is set the heart 
We tend, and nearness makes desire expand; 
If, as we almost reach it with the hand, 

Most unexpectedly some foe upstart, 

And thrust between, keep us and it apart, 
Upsetting all our daring hope has planned, — 
To bear and break not, then, but firmly stand. 

Unswayed from right by hate or passion's art ; 
To bow submissively to fate adverse, 

And cherish in our inmost heart for him 

Who does this wrong no bitterness; to curse 

Him not, but pray his cup up to the brim 

With joy be filled, — and leave to God the rest, — 
Divinest love, this is thy crowning test. 



SUBMISSION. 155 



SUBMISSION. 

Think you that all is lost because your plans, 
Born of conceit, fail of their fulfilment? 
If in wild aim your bullet's force is spent? 

The kindest breeze of heaven, it may be, fans 

The flame that fires the bridge that the chasm spans, 
Beyond which lies the goal on which are bent 
Your longing eyes. Oh, mortal, be content 

To follow, — let the lead be God's, not man's; 

Life is not judged by one unfruitful hour; 

Wait to the end. God's mills grind slow indeed ; 

Yet giant oaks spring from bitter acorns ; 
Some sad experience may be the seed 
From which developed is the perfect flower, 
Which most the life enriches and adorns. 



156 TRUST. 



TRUST. 

This very moment there may lie around 
Us very near some overwhelming proof 
Of want but half concealed by lowly roof, 

Which stands away but by a space from ground 

Where ostentatious luxuries abound ; 

But by a space, perchance, she stands aloof. 
With woven robes of golden warp and woof. 

From her with needful clothing poorly gowned. 

Why one must strive for sustenance in vain. 
And boundless riches fill the greedy hand 

Another holds till surfeit is a pain, 

O God, not now we seek to understand ; 

That must be best Thy righteous hands let fall, 

And somewhere compensation waits for all. 



UNSATISFIED. I57 



UNSATISFIED. 

How many of my days are numbered ! and 
How little of that which in flush of youth 
I thought to do has yet been done ! forsooth, 

Alon^ the years my narrow life has spanned 

Are legions of wrecked hopes, — a spectral band ; 
Alas ! how well I knoAV their forms uncouth, — 
Each idol shattered and each bitter truth ! 

Who else each failure's woe can understand? 

When of despair, sometimes the burden seems 
More than the fainting spirit can endure; 

And heart, grown stubborn and suspicious, deems 
The sources of all longed-for things impure, 

Does only darkness hang upon the days 

Because the eyes are blind to all God's ways? 



14* 



158 INDECISION. 



INDECISION. 

Day after day unstaying years go by, 
And we grope our uncertain, halting way 
Along the base of heights we should essay 

To climb, upon whose summits lifted high 

The jewelled coronets of honor lie. 

One sees with vision clear as sunlight's ray 
His chance or calling, and with no delay 

He pushes on until the goal is nigh, 

And men at his success are stricken dumb. 

And all the world his daring genius hails. 
Oh, ye alert, when fateful moments come, 

A tear for them whom fortune always fails! 
Who, seeing not the end, fear to begin, 
And pass by opportunities to win. 



CONSCIENTIO USNESS. I59 



CONSCIENTIOUSNESS. 

Who never turn from beaten paths away, 
And, without questioning, life's goal pursue. 
Accepting for the best each common view. 

Find sympathy, approval, strength, and stay 

In sweet companionship from day to day; 
While often he, to his convictions true, 
Who dares to venture in some pathway new, 

Traditions old refusing longer sway. 

Finds fierce antagonisms, distrust, and hate ; 

Yet following where his conscious duties lead; 

He is a man and hero true, indeed. 

Who heeds not reputation, peace, or fate, 

Or public praise, dear unto mortal ears. 

Unless beyond the voice of God he hears. 



160 MANHOOD. 



MANHOOD. 

Men sing his praise who scales some mountain 
height 

Which never yet has trodden mortal's feet; 

Whom genius crowns all men with honor greet; 
And men respect him who upholds with might, 
At whatever cost, whatever he thinks is right ; 

Whose sword wins fame, to him are honors meet ; 

But whom we love most, though, his life is sweet 
And pure; and hopefully, from morn till night, 
He strives day after day, year after year. 

With willing hands and tireless feet, in ways 
His lines are cast ; he holds truth more than greed. 
And all high place at cost of honor dear ; 

And rather than his sacred trust betrays, 
He calmly faces death, if there be need. 



MORE LIGHT. Igl 



MORE LIGHT. 

The rocks entombed in earth impatient lie, 

And into light are whirled through openings wide 

Of mountains which their giant throes divide; 
The little seeds, though buried, do not die. 
But blade and leaf and tree leap towards the sky ; 

"More light!'' cried Goethe, with his dying 
breath ; 

More light! the song of birth, the throe of 
death ! 
More light! of nature all the yearning cry 

Since God creation's morn the dawn proclaimed ; 
Men probe the earth : her treasures gives the sea ; 

The darkness yields unto the lightning tamed, 
Nor yet does science cease her prophecy ; 

Still man, for light, shall grope through night 
and sin. 

Until God's presence he shall enter in. 



162 ^ SUMMER DAY. 



A SUMMER DAY. 

Across the intervening valley wide 

The emerald hill-tops kiss the sapphire sky ; 
In swaying hammock lazily I lie 

And trace the line where green and blue divide, 

Or watch the banks of foamy clouds that ride 
Above me as I listen dreamily 
To melodies among the boughs near by, 

Loud trilled from throats which yellow-green 
leaves hide. 

The cooling zephyrs breathe upon my face, 
And every breath has balm of many flowers. 
Oh, golden day of dear midsummer time, 

Spellbound in thy voluptuous embrace, 
I yield up grudgingly the passing hours. 

And mourn thy fading hue the while I rhyme. 



A MARCH DAY. 163 



A MARCH DAY. 

Dumb in their nests the sparrows cheerless lie ; 
The clouds low down are draped with folds of 

black, 
Which almost touch the boughs of tamarack, 
Tlirough which the fierce wind^s breath sweeps 

mournfully ; 
Across the narrow, lifeless street, near by, 
An unclean snow-drift lingers ; farther back 
I trace the surging river's yellow track. 
Between its tawny willow guards, whose high 

Heads quiver in the melancholy gloom, 
Pervading all the earth and air and sky; 

When, lo! through riven clouds the sunlight 
breaks ; 
Supernal glories earth and sky illume; 
And all my heart to new-born raptures wakes, 
And all my thoughts of Him I magnify. 



164 ^^ I'SE BRipGE. 



AT THE BRIDGE. 

Enraptured with the glowing wood-crowned hills, 
At quiet sunset hour alone I stand 
Above this stream with iron sinews spanned, 

And all my being with the beauty thrills, 

And all my spirit with the glory fills ; 
Out from the riven cloud a golden baud 
Lights up the barren drifts of yellow sand ; 

The breathless hush my throbbing pulses stills. 

While round the bar with graceful sweep and bend, 
Scioto's waters with Ohio's blend, — 
So when the victories of life are won. 

May its sunset with holy light draw nigh; 
So merge time and eternity in one, 
As river glides to river peacefully. 



THE WIND. 165 



THE WIND. 

Is it the ghosts of the midsummer bees 

That stiug and haunt me this November day ? 

Comes from the south a breeze chilled on its way 
In sipping ices on the frosted leas ? 
Or sweeps some wild blast from the northern seas? 

It tosses up and scourges in its play 
The brown discarded jewels of the trees, 

And in its mockery it seems to say, — 
" In splendor you have flaunted one brief hour 

Your finery ; behold your glory now ! 

I wear no crimson gowns, yet roam the sky; 

I fan the vales and kiss the mountain's brow, 
And lapse of time and bounds of space defy; 
And you, — lo, I can crush you with my power." 



15 



166 PROMISE. 



PROMISE. 

Chill is the south wind's breath, the clouds hang 

low ; 
Around me lie great drifts of melting snow; 
A smithy's anvil near is silent, forge 

Fireless, — it is the holy Sabbath day; 

A bridge of stone along the travelled way 
Extends, and underneath leaps down the gorge 

A swollen stream, with foam and splash and 
spray ; 
On distant hill-tops rests the fog; below. 
O'er flat submerged, the shimmering waters flow; 

A gloomy morn, suggesting all sad things, 

Yet all the misty air with music rings ; 
For, on the topmost bough of maple near 
And bare and lone, with breast aflame, loud, clear, 

A prophet of the summer sweetly sings. 



SPITZKOP, 167 



SPITZKOP. 

(February 27, 1881.) 

Fear not, thou heaven-inspired, heroic band, 

Whose valor's deeds fill freemen's hearts to-day; 

Your cause is just; what despot's power can stay, 
When struggling freedom lifts her holy hand 
To strike the foe that grasps her fatherland? 

Proud leader of the nations, turn away ! 

A people just endure, the wrong decay ; 
Ancestral kingdom, name historic, grand, 

Is this thy chivalry, that England's might 

Shall crush the weak and trample on the right ? 
The gods make mad and then destroy, — beware ! 

They lose who 'gainst the God of battles fight; 
Guard well thy ancient name and fame ! They 

dare 
In righteous cause who heroes' laurels wear. 



168 OUR UNWELCOME FRIEND. 



OUR UNWELCOME FRIEND. 

There is a sentinel with watchful eyes, 
Alert day after day, year after year, 
Who signals us when there is danger near ; 

Who stays our sports, our best-laid plans defies; 

If we transgress too far in anywise. 
Quite apt he is unbidden to appear; 
Although his voice we hardly ever hear, 

Unless we cross the line where safety lies. 
There is no truer friend of man ; and yet 

We do not love him, — oh, base ingratitude ! 
For mortals who his warning cries forget 

Curse him whose only mission is their good. 
Who is this slave who serves and seeks no gain. 
This angel unawares? Men call him — Pain. 



LUNA AD TELLVREM. Igg 



LUNA AD TELLUREM. 

Through regions boundless, far, unquestioning. 
While myriad cycles roll, I go with thee, 
A helpless slave, on to my destiny ; 

What light illumines me to thee I fling ; 

To thy weird path through heat and cold I cling. 
And hang my crescent o'er thy land and sea; 
Methinks, if thou dost sometimes tire of me, 

Thou canst not then escape my following. 

What mystic force my fate links to thine, Earth? 
For I have felt the pressure of thy clasp 

Since roving planets had from chaos birth; 
Above, beneath, forever in thy grasp, 

Thy torch, thy toy, I marvel at thy might, 

Yet serve thee, queen, a loyal satellite. 



15* 



170 BETRAYAL. 



BETRAYAL. 

We sigh to see the things we long for go, 

When we know that to strive for them is vain, 
To feel they never will be near again; 

To see the face we love still whiter grow. 

As death steals on to strike the fatal blow. 
Oft conscious worth must writhe in galling 

chain, 
And ecstasy of love be pierced with pain, 

For every heart its bitterness must know. 

All mourn some aspiration unfulfilled, 

And taste the anguish of some fond hopes dead, 
Or grieve for some lost friend whom they have 
prized ; 
But death's own darkness pales in that night's 
dread 
Awakening, which comes ere throbs are stilled 
Of heart by its betrayal paralyzed. 



THE UNEXPECTED. 171 



THE UNEXPECTED. 

The things with great anxiety one strives 
For do not satisfy him in the end : 
But seldom peace fulfilment does attend ; 

The deepest woe or joy supremest thrives 

Most on the unexpected in our lives; 

As o'er the barren waste our way we tend, 
The lone flower that we pluck seems like a friend 

Who in some dire extremity arrives ; 

Its perfume gladdens us as does the sight 
Of a familiar face we rest the eyes 
Upon amid the surging crowd of some 

Strange thoroughfare. When Death with sudden 
might 
Strikes one we love, our loss he magnifies 
More than if heralded his footsteps come. 



172 AT THE LAKE. 



AT THE LAKE. 



I SIT and dream beside the placid meer ; 

Through amber haze the sunlight warms the wold ; 

On crimson tapestries and beds of gold, 
Across the bay, the skies to rest appear; 
And in the mirror at my feet, so near, 

Rubies in gorgeous clusters I behold, 

And amethysts and sapphires manifold. 
Oft in the autumn of a by-gone year, 

When these old trees were painted every hue, 
Another came and rested with me here. 

Under their boughs, beside these waters blue, 
For evermore to memory so dear ; 

One now beneath the withered grasses lies, 

While overhead still glow the mocking skies. 



NOT YET. 173 



NOT YET. 

So much to say, so many songs to sing, 
So many things I cannot now forget. 
So much to do that I cannot leave yet. 

O Death, a little longer let me cling 

To these, if it must be, with suffering ; 
I did not think that I must pay the debt 
To thee, and leave all else with such regret, 

While yet I longed so much for everything; 
That eye and tongue and arm would strive in 
vain, 

While all I sought to do was still undone. 
Not yet, not yet ! Wilt not thou come again 

When I have met my foes once more, and won 
The victory o'er pride, or greed, or lust, 
And know I have been something more than 
dust? 



174 MARS HILL. 



MAES HILL. 

If some time once before we close our eyes 

In death, to finite beings power could be 

One moment to put on infinity ; 
And at our will if we could break the guys 
Which the events of by-gone centuries, 

Each in its narrow niche holds steadfastly ; 

And, as we choose, in its completeness see 
Some one grand view out of the past arise. 

How fain my feet would be to linger near 
The streams and in the groves of Italy, 

That Virgil's living voice I might once hear; 
Yet I would blind my eyes, if it must be. 

Lest they should look on that entrancing land, 

If so I might with Paul at Athens stand. 



BLIND. 175 



BLIND. 

Oh, happy bird, whose presence I feel near, 
Whose thrilling notes fall sweetly on my ear, 
Though I mark not your sweep across the sky, 
Or splendor of your plumage, with my eye. 
My heart leaps at your song, and knows its cheer. 

Turn day to night through the slow- wasting year. 
And spread your wings with ever-haunting fear. 
Among your trills would ever be a sigh, 
Oh, happy bird? 

Could I reach out beyond the darkness here, 
Which holds me helpless in this narrow sphere, 
And with your gift divine, of melody. 
Still with my song some sad heart's bitter cry. 
Glad were the dusky hours, and life were dear, 
Oh, happy bird I 



176 THEY WAIT THE MAIL. 



THEY WAIT THE MAIL. 

They wait the mail, — one brown and spare, 
One is a blonde, and plump and fair, — 
A dapper clerk runs to and fro, 
Each parcel boxes in its row, — 
Knows he black eyes and blue are there ? 

While he is chirk and debonair, 
Distributing with skill and care 
His messages of weal and woe, — 
They wait the mail. 

Now one by one, — all on the square, — 
Each in his turn is served his share; 
And still they linger, — do you know, — 
Is natty clerk the brunette's beau? 
Or dallies he with golden hair? — 
They wait the male. 



WHEN SHINES THE MOON. 177 



WHEN SHINES THE MOON. 

When shines the moon, at full, so bright, 
Upon the earth with pale, sweet light, 
As bustling day lies in repose, 
And dewdrops dally with the rose, 
How lovely is the summer night ! 

The stars that look from loftier height, — 
How tremblingly they shrink from sight. 
Lost in the silver flood that flows. 
When shines the moon ! 

Oh, mellow moonlight, yellow-white, — 
We love it, since we love the right; 
For wickedness and it are foes. 
Since crime is bold when moonlight goes, 
And flees away an evil sprite. 
When shines the moon. 



16 



178 A BALLAD OF MV MARK. 



A BALLAD OF MY MARE. 

Coming down to us from the ages back, 

Are richest treasures of legend and lore; 
Of telling quaint truths they had a queer knack, 

And to-day there came to me o'er and o'er 
An Arabic saying of long before. 

And it through my brain continually rang 
As I galloped along the Owasco shore : 

" The joys of life in the forelock hang." 

Metempsychosis, and all such clack, 

Our modern philosophers now ignore; 
Yet I sometimes think we should place a smack 

Of truth to old heathen Pythagoras' score ; 
Then I dream of a comely maiden of yore, 

Who parted, maybe, with sorrowing pang 
From the spirit that I in my mare adore, — 

"The joys of life in the forelock hang." 

Great sorrow will fill that day, alack ! 

When she and I are companions no more ; 
Her coat is like satin, glossy and black. 

It shines like the waistcoats our fathers wore; 



THE OLD MILL. 179 

On her polished neck hangs her mane galore, 
And I sing as never Sheik truer sang 

Of steed that him long and faithfully bore, 
^' The joys of life in the forelock hang." 

ENVOY. 

Don't look for a friend with naught to deplore, — 
The bite of a tooth now and then leaves a tang ; 

Our quarrels break ties, our caresses restore, 
" Our joys of life in the forelock hang." 



THE OLD MILL. 

The stream is small, the current is still. 

It winds between banks where the alders sway, 
Then widens and deepens and flows to the mill 

Beyond, — one built in my grandsire's day ; 
A quaint old dam holds the waters at bay. 

Then over they leap with deafening sound, 
And angrily toss their foam and spray. 

As the great, strong wheel rolls round and round. 



180 ^^^ OLD MILL. 

The stream is bridged at the foot of the hill, 

Where the trailing arbutus blooms in May, 
And the tall, fierce briers with blackberries fill 

And ripen in summer's latest warm ray; 
But from early morn to the twilight gray 

The whir of the stone, where the corn is ground. 
And the hum of the saw are heard for aye, 

As the great, strong wheel rolls round and round. 

Sj)ruce, hemlock, and pine are carved up at will ; 

Shaft, carriage, and saw the millers obey; 
Rafter and plank and clapboard and sill 

From the round, big logs are sliced away. 
And shaped at pleasure, as potters mould clay, 

And everywhere logs and lumber abound. 
Piled up like cobs by the children in play. 

As the great, strong wheel rolls round and round. 

ENVOY. 

The years and the waters, — they never stay, 
Though the warp and filling of lives are wound. 

And the millers succumb to Time's decay. 

As the great, strong wheel goes round and round. 



THE BALLAD OF POVERTY. Igl 



THE BALLAD OF POVERTY. 

No ranches or vineyards I call my own ; 

Only castles of air are my palaces; 
No lines of rail, or of telephone, 

No jewels in mines, or ships on the seas, 
Are mine by right of the statute's decrees ; 

But why need I grieve o'er my poverty? 
I have wealth that never away from me flees, 

In those that I love, and in things that bless me. 

Only yesterday the sunlight shone 

On the leafless boughs of the apple-trees ; 
To-day behold the bright blossoms blown ! 

For a feast of their fragrance who asks for fees ? 
My right in their beauty who'll question or seize? 

Sky and mountain are mine, and river and sea, 
And in thought I roam wherever I please, 

To those that I love, and things that bless me. 

Free air I breathe as a king on his throne; 

I cringe to no man, nor bend my knees, 
Save to the Master of all alone ; 

He unlocks for me His treasuries, 

16^ 



132 CHRISTINE. 

And I am heir to His legacies; 

A glimpse of the glories of heaven I see, — 
Though the wine I drink has some earthly lees, — 

In those that I love, and in things that bless me. 

ENVOY. 

Friend, you and I follow our destinies ; 

You have wealth, maybe ; I am poor as needs be, 
Excepting what riches are counted in these: 

In those that I love, and in things that bless me. 



CHEISTINE. 

I. 
Your eyes are night, Christine, 

And ruddy morn, your lips ; 
Their flush is warm, I ween ; 
Your eyes are night, Christine, 
I tremble at their sheen. 

Thrilled to my finger-tips ; 
Your eyes are night, Christine, 

And ruddy morn your lips. 



CHRISTINE. 133 

II. 
To make your cheek, Christine, 

White roses blend with red ; 
The wealth of both you glean 
To make your cheek, Christine; 
Eye has no fairer seen. 

And hearts are captive led ; 
To make your cheek, Christine, 

White roses blend with red. 

III. 
Ah, me ! what grace, Christine, 

Like white clouds here and there, 
Flecking a sky serene ! 
Ah, me ! what grace, Christine, 
Of neck and brow the screen 

Half hides of your brown hair ! 
Ah, me ! what grace, Christine, 

Like white clouds here and there ! 

IV. 

Pure as the snow, Christine, 

Fair as the summer, though. 
With richest bloom and green ; 
Pure as the snow, Christine, 



184 CHRISTINE. 

Your life makes mine more clean 
The more of it I know ; 

Pure as the snow^ Christine, 
Fair as the summer, though. 

VI. 

Your speech is wine, Christine, 
And thrills me every draught 

I drink with you, my queen ! 

Your speech is wine, Christine, 

Yet makes my thirst grow keen 
With every beacon quaffed ; 

Your speech is wine, Christine, 
And thrills me every draught. 

V. 

Your years are few, Christine, 
While mine far on have rolled ; 

Wide yawns the gulf between; 

Your years are few, Christine, 

But on your love I lean ; 

Bless you, sweet five-year-old ! 

Your years are few, Christine, 
While mine far on have rolled. 



TO-DA V. 185 



TO-DAY. 

To-day the eyes are hot and blind with tears, 
To-day the heart is pierced and dead with 
sorrow ; 

Love's whisper, mayhap, yesterday endears. 

To-day the eyes are hot and blind with tears ; 

E'en though a shadow of the darkness clears 
Up in the white dream of divine to-morrow, 

To-day the eyes are hot and blind with tears. 
To-day the heart is pierced and dead with 
sorrow. 



THE END. 



^^ 


m 


M^ 


m 




^' M 




^vlZ^ 


mS 


'^^M^// 


Ifp^ 


^ 


0^ 




p 


^/ 


j^ 


wy/ii 


1 







Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Sept. 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 
1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724)779-2111 






,■■" ';/ 




« 


'^^ 




'^ 


H 




B 


/^ 


igf 


^ 






^1 


^ 


l/'7 ^ 


s^ 


1^1 \)^L^l 


i 


i 


^ 


w 


ii^B 











^ 


i 


^^ 


^i^Ki^iM^f^i 


^p^^j [irp^wf^^^i 


Z/^!^:^; 




IT^9^^ 1 


r^™j|i '"-•' 7 1 r^^l^^ji 


/?^iB£^^' r^j^j 


ih^W^M^' 




s// ^/y?^ V\ V 


Ki 


f^ 


i^ 


^^\i0i 




/^Pa^^I 




i:^m^.\jmmLi\immimm 


^1^/ 


*^j^-V 


J^^'l/^^i^/ 


m 


f*iMfeiMii^ 


/^ 




v^A 


H^ 


y^^L 


mi~^ 


f 




^' 




P 


//^ 


i 


B 


Ml 


S 
^ 










i5ii"^PB_ 


l^\ 


r^HM 


Wyjl 




wC'jn[\S^\ 


WyJh 


^\ 


ry/^i^^\ 


S^BSm 






^^^^1^ 


^m 


iii 




wB 


p^^'/^ 


g 




W 


SHmB 




^1^7/ 


\^^^l 




^^\ 


r^/// --^CA 


1^ 






^^^ 


\l^^^\il^^\ 






[f^l^l 


//^ffl^ //^^^ //^^-' 


M^' 


"^jj^^j r^j^U 


r^^^(n 


^/^^^'^B^-/ 


EM'^M^)l/jt 


^^^Cm_ 






1'-^'^^^ /j^''^^^J^^V 


/A^jT^^ 


^iLi^ ' / ^^Si^^avV'/ -i>x\\c'V/// '■^is.WiB' ^/// 'oOvi 


«, 




^1^1/ /?S^(i^//|/^^i^//|,^^iJ^7lr^^J^^/ 


j^f^'i ' '^wj^// 1 ;i^^i:^// 1 >^^^^iiL^/'i 


'zj 




^H^lll 






r^-/r/^ 


\v^\ wi/M 




/^ 


^ 




0^ 




m 


^ 


6^;/ 





^ 


^ 


^^\ 


1 


il/'^/M 


i 




s^ 










IV M 


s 




^^^ 


BmI^ 


s 


y^jJW 


^MK 


r^Kr' 


r^^^?7^^i^/ 




^^ 


r^ 


«^^ii5i 


\v;\ 


1^ 






il^^^i 


u^^^ l/^I^Il 


f/^f^^i 


f^^l//^^J| 


/^^ 




|0Ski^^/i 


f^Ms 


^^J 




^^^^/l 


■^^Mi^ 


M 




\^^^^\^ 


M^^ 


abi 




^1^^ 


^^TmI^v^ i^W V 


^^^ 




gpfi^Nl/PlMI//^^l^^!i^^l 


If^l^^ If^^l^ 


1 






i 


W\ 




1 


1 




i 


i 


i 




i 






i 


^ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




